Your Back Is Soaking Wet

At Thursday night's practice, sweat was dripping off my forehead, into my eyes, and on to my glasses.  Big sweat rings radiated from my arm pits to half way down my side.  The Nagging Little Voice stated the obvious, “You’re wearing a long sleeve shirt and long pants.  What did you expect?”  My immediate thought was that French blue was a bad shirt color choice.

I looked back at Glenn.  His Wiki Weekend Warriors tee was soaked through.  “Do you want the fan on?”  “No, it wouldn’t do any good.  Besides, I’ve got a beer.”

The Nagging Little Voice then began to whine, “Turn on the air conditioner.”  The whine became a beg.  “Please.”  No, we were not going to do that.  It would put another noise in the room and interfere with our sound.  Plus, we need to get ready for the Davis BeerFest.

Meanwhile, Sue and Robert seemed totally acclimated.  Maybe they were getting some breeze from the three fans that were running in Doghouse.  They certainly did not need an air conditioner blowing down on them.

As I sought relief with a Lost Coast Great White, the Nagging Little Voice had decided that I was a wimp.  “It’s only 80 now.  If you’re sweating like this now, just think what will happen on Saturday when the forecast is 102.  You’ll melt.  Ha, ha.  You wimp!”

Yes, the Nagging Little Voice maybe had a point.  The week began in the 60s and was to peak on Saturday by breaking the century mark for the first time this year.  The Pups will be outdoors in the sun and the heat -- another new playing experience.

Whether than contemplate that my pedals might melt, I kept hearing the words of James Brown’s “Oh, Baby, Don’t You Weep”:  “You’re screaming your heart out ‘til you back is soaking wet now.”  I may not be screaming but certainly should expect that my back will be soaking wet.  Sweat and rock ‘n roll -- don’t they seem like they should go together?

As I wiped my forehead on my shirt sleeve, a thought came to mind.  Fashion reminder for Saturday:  Don’t wear French blue.

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