Gonna ride down to the river where it runs.

My commute to work this morning was remarkable in its sweatiness. Not in the mere fact that it was sweaty, mind you—I’ve had lots of sweaty commutes. It was the quality of said sweatiness that was notable this morning. Are you ready? Ok.

So I dashed onto a crowded train which was, thankfully, nicely air conditioned. Always nice to feel that blast of cool air after standing (or running) on a hot and humid subway platform. And yet as I stood there, pressed up against my neighbors, ipod playing soothingly in my ears, I began to notice the thin rivulets of sweat that were forming continuously between my shoulder blades and running persistently down my back. Each little river would collect momentarily in the whirlpool of my lower back, and then slip mischievously under the waistband of my boxer briefs, where one might think their journey would have ended in the cottony comfort. But no. Each flume managed to work its way directly into my butt crack, where it flowed joyously down the length of my butt cheeks, coming to rest, finally, in the seat of my underoos. Good thing I was wearing some! Otherwise, I imagine my little hydrologic cycle would have just continued right down my legs and flowed out onto the floor of the train. Ew.

I wanted to be annoyed at the whole thing, but really, all I could think was, “So this is what it would feel like if your butt could pee.”