Twenty Gallon Drums of Sweat

“If it never again gets as hot as it was this week, I will be happy,” Holly confessed as she took a sip of steaming hot coffee.  “I mean, I’m not a fan of long, frigid Maine winters, but I always thought we accepted those in return for never having to deal with extreme heat.”

It was the Sunday after the big heat wave had come dangerously close to melting Maine off the map.  The best friends were seated on their favorite bench next to the river, and neither seemed to mind the fact that it was raining.

“It was disgusting.  It was revolting.  I’ve got twenty-gallon drums of sweat in my house and now I have to make arrangements for them to be removed,” Aaron told her and then took a long sip of his ice-cold Snapple.  Not for the first time, he wondered why Snapple had yet to officially sponsor this blog.  “As you know, I refuse to get an air conditioner because I spend a fortune every year to heat the house.  There’s no way in hell I’m going to pay to chill it as well.”

She nodded in agreement as she sipped her coffee.  “How did you get the sweat into the drums?”

“What’s that?” he asked, confused by the question.

“I understand that the extreme heat caused you to sweat abundantly, but how did you manage to contain all the sweat in twenty-gallon drums?  Did you strategically place the drums throughout the house and then stand over them any time you needed to sweat?  Which I assume was all the time given the triple digit temperatures and your lack of a cooling apparatus.”

“First off, I don’t believe one ever sweats abundantly.  You might need to consult your thesaurus and get back to me on that one,” he quipped.  “Obviously, I’d sweat into my shirt, and then I would wring my shirt into the drums.”

“Would you then put on the shirt again?”

“Why not?” he challenged.  “It was drenched in sweat, but I’d wrung it out.  If I put on a new shirt every time one got soaked through with perspiration this week, I’d be spending a fortune on a new wardrobe.  Plus, the water bill would be through the roof from having to do so many loads of laundry.”

Holly shook her head and made a disgusted face.  “You’re weird, but that’s just wrong.  The shirt had to stink.  How could you sit there wearing it?”

“We both know I have a horrible sense of smell.”  She nodded in agreement.  “Plus, I’m by myself in the house, so it’s not like I’m offending anyone.  Additionally, who’s going to notice a smelly shirt when there are twenty-gallon drums of sweat everywhere?  I really wish you’d think before you waste my time with your ridiculous questions.”

“I’m the ridiculous one…” she mumbled and rolled her eyes.

“I’m glad you agree,” he shot back at her.  “Look, isn’t this about the time that we usually turn our attention to the water?”

“Sure,” she agreed, “but I’m not sure I can focus.  I’m still hung up on you wearing those sweaty shirts.”

“Your loss,” he replied with a shrug and turned his attention to the water.