It's not the heat

I realize that my last post might sound a bit like I'm complaining or criticizing. I really do love this city and my first few days here. This is just a way to tell about some funny things. I'm actually sort of an optimist. Another disclaimer, my wife actually asked me to write this story for the blog. Some family members and friends will truly appreciate this one...

That being said, I'd like to step back in time for a minute to Monday morning. It is our first morning in the city and my wife has an interview in Brooklyn. The morning is warm but not unbearable and so we decide to walk the 10 blocks or so from the B&B to the subway. As we are walking, I look over at her. I notice my wife is looking a little, well... hot. This is not atypical but then I notice a bead of sweat going down her face. Knowing that this is the day of the first interview, I begin to worry. Eight blocks to go.

Step one, take her bag and carry it. Another bead of sweat. Keep in mind, it isn't particularly hot. Six blocks to go.

Step two, slow the pace slightly. No good. Her face starts to glisten a bit. Four blocks to go.

At this point, I'd like to introduce you to a term that originated in my wife's family: Slap. Sweatin' like a pig. We don't pull this term out unless it is a serious situation.

We keep walking. It's getting worse. I now have instructions from my wife, "Do not even look at me. It will only make it worse." Her shirt looks kind of damp. At this point, I'm not just in crisis mode, I'm panicking...

Oh, crud. What now? Pass the water bottle. Three more blocks to go.

I mention that the cars on the subway have A.C. We start to relax at that thought, but I see another drop of sweat... then two... then three... It's a veritable torrent... We climb the steps of the subway platform.

The subway arrives after five minutes on the most crowded platform you've ever seen. We pack into the car. I'm now forbidden to look, speak or even acknowledge my wife. The combination of nerves and humidity (it's not the heat) have pushed her over the edge... sub-saharan nations could use her as a water source... Coloradans could stop xeriscaping... she's dripping like a faucet... you get the idea. The air conditioned car doesn't help a bit.

By the time we hit Brooklyn, we are both dripping and out of sorts. As we climb out of the subway, I notice a diner above the station. Disco. "Let's grab breakfast and use the restroom to dry off..." Crisis averted. After a nice 45 minutes of sitting and relaxing in the A.C., we are both ready to face the world. And breakfast wasn't bad either.