I sweat many different kinds of sweat.
'Horses sweat, Gimme!' I hear Mammy Zealot, my ex-grandmother shriek at me from beyond the grave. 'Men perspire! Women glow!'
Watch me break free from the hanging down hang-ups of my childhood: I sweat many different kinds of sweat. There's exercise sweat, naturally. The sweat of fear. Cold sweats, nervy sweats, sexy sweats. But there is one sweat like no other, a sticky sickly horrific gloop of a glow. It is caused by the combination of fear of parenting failure, extreme shoulder, bicep and finger ouchiness and rapid changes of temperature. Yes, folks, it is the sweat of Smyth's and Toymaster, the sweat of Santa shopping, the sweat of Christmas cold and a Christmas cold.
But it's done now and the globules of gunge with the consistency of honey that pumped themselves into the armpits of my t-shirt have now stinkingly dried. The Santa deal is put to bed and it's just those bits and cunting pieces to do. And the food. Did I mention that Christmas dinner is in our house this year?
Fucking kill me now before I develop a whole new sweat stain strain.