Sweating Like A Warthog

Today I had the unexpected pleasure of being able to drive down the mountain to Phoenix to play with my god daughters.  Seems my other BFF was in a baby sitter crisis and I had the day off.  I love those girls.  Pretty sure I would spend all my time with them if they lived closer.  So I decided to make my workout a fun one today and take them to the zoo.  Now, the Phoenix Zoo is HUGE and lots of walking so I was all prepared.  Tennis shoes…check.  T shirt…check.  Comfy jeans…check.  Wait.  Did I say jeans?  Well yes, I did.  It is Fall after all and it has been wicked cold up here at 7000 feet so I decided I would be fine in jeans. Little did I know it would reach about 101 degrees down there today.  I should have checked the weather I guess.  Stupid fat girl.

I kept our destination a surprise to my girls and the squeals of joy coming from the backseat when they figured it out was enough to tell me I had made a good decision.  Apparently a great one as the 8-year-old said “You are the bestest Nina EVER!” as we stepped up to buy our tickets, making me and the cashier laugh.  The day started off well.  The weather was nice and I had remembered to put sunscreen on my two red heads yet forgot myself.  Stupid fat girl mistake number two.  Now fast forward the day to about 10-11am.  It is at this point, as we are coming out of a potty break that I notice it has gotten hotter out and my t-shirt is starting to stick to me. Hmmmmm.  This does not bode well for the black t-shirt and dark jeans wearing fat girl.  Yes…my t-shirt was black.  Any of my friends will tell you that is my usual t-shirt color of choice.  Unfortunately for the stupid fat girl who didn’t check the weather before she drove down to the eternal flaming pits of Hell.  But to the Monkey Village it was!  Onward!  As we are walking, I decide to shift my purse to the other shoulder.  Huh.  Not just sticking to me but soaking wet with sweat.  Ew.  I mean you could have wrung out my shirt.  Now I am noticing the river of sweat that is decidedly making a trail down my cleavage and pooling into my fat roll underneath it.  Pretty sure if I had lifted up my shirt, a tidal wave of warm bodily fluid would have rushed out soaking my dark jeans.  Might have been refreshing at this point.  I opted not to make the mess.  OK.  If I put my hair up in pony tail, this will help cool me off, right?  Who am I kidding?  I don’t think it is possible to cool off in 101 degree temperatures.  And why do people live in a place so hot and why did I come down here to this now sweltering oven of a zoo?  Oh yeah….those two adoringly beautiful girls who are skipping ahead of me discussing which is the better way to get to the elephant enclosure.  I look at the two of them looking over the map and realize that I will suffer through this just like I suffered through the humiliation of SOTL man asking me if I was having a heart attack while I was running.  Pretty sure I now look like I not only have been drenched by a hose in a wet t-shirt contest but also smeared some of that raccoon grease on my face.  Even my underwear is soaked when I go potty next.  Ever try pulling up sweat soaked underwear?  If that won’t give you a wedgie or chub-rub, then nothing will.  You can never seem to get them back into the right spot…kinda like a wet swimsuit.  So then you are stuck with trying to walk it out and hope the underwear do re-adjust themselves into the correct spot or trying to pick a wedgie in a very public arena (something neither girl has a problem doing I might add.  Oh to be young and carefree).  I decided to just walk it out and really hope the jeans would help work the wet underwear back into place.  They didn’t.

Later in the afternoon is when I notice the next thing that made me feel like I was a warthog.  I go to splash water on my face and fix the fly away hairs when I notice someone in the bathroom has B.O.  Dang!  Who is that and why are they standing so close to me?  I look around and realize I am the only one at the sinks.  I sniff again.  Yup.  Most distinctly body odor.  No.  Wait.  Could it be?  I dared to do the sniff test.  OH LORDY!  May Jesus have mercy on anyone standing downwind of this fat girl cuz my deodorant had given out!  Great.  Not only do I look like a greasy raccoon and am sweating like a warthog, but now I smell like one too.  Well, at least I am at the zoo and maybe it will blend in with the animal smell.  thank goodness for having deodorant in the car but I did have to be careful not to offend anyone by raising my arms too high.  I mean, it offended me!  That’s bad.  But I must admit, despite all of the stupid fat girl decisions today, it was a wonderful day with my girls.  The little one promptly fell asleep on the drive home and the 8-year-old and I car danced to Justin Bieber.  I really do love those girls.  So am pretty sure I sweated off some fat today…lets see what the scale says in the morning.

Oh yeah.  I didn’t die today.  I almost melted like the Wicked Witch of The West but I didn’t die.  I am stupid fat girl who forgets to check the weather and gets sunburned in October but whose heart overflows with joy at spending the day with my girls. The experiment continues…..

2 thoughts on “Sweating Like A Warthog

  1. Danielle October 11, 2011 / 10:15 pm

    Oh Kristann!!!! You make this fellow fat girl who also sweats like a warthog laugh! Thanks for making pumping go by quicker! Thanks also for our freaking sweet matching Duckie socks and Delilah’s cute giraffe outfit!

    • ladymiryaa October 11, 2011 / 10:18 pm

      You know whenever I don’t write I think of you needing to laugh and read while pumping!! Its a good motivator! Couldn’t resist spoiling that precious girl of yours!

Leave a Reply