Dripping the Light Fantastic

Hot enough for you?

Not for some prisoners on a work detail that I saw yesterday afternoon. It's not like we have the tent-city, pink-underwear, baloney-sandwich, chain-gang prison in our fair hamlet. But we do have three state prisons within a forty-mile radius. Good for jobs, you know. State merit system jobs. And speaking of gainful employment, those prisoners like to have the groundskeeping-crew jobs. It's a privilege. Plus it gives one the opportunity every now and then to run off and be discovered hiding under a boat.

The work detail wears the standard prison garb of gray pants and white T-shirts. If they're working on the road right-of-way, they also wear the flimsy orange don't-run-over-me vests. Some of those dudes yesterday had accessorized by adding...are you ready for this...orange sock caps. Yeah. The knit kind you wear in the winter to hold in your body heat so it is not lost through your scalp. Which is something that, um, most people would like to lose when the temperature is 95 degrees.

But I'm not here to discuss inmates and their fashion statements. I'm here to talk about perspiration. The sum total of my manual labor yesterday was carrying in some groceries. While I don't mean to brag, I would like the record to show that I did my part for the water cycle by contributing scalp rivulets and underboob sweat back to the environment.

My son, Genius, is a world-class water cycle donor. In the Water Cycle Olympics, he would hold the gold medal for every event in the hand and foot division. It's a wonder he doesn't short out his phone while texting. He could coin a new walking on eggshells phrase: walking on banana peels. At times, I think he must be part snail, considering the trail he leaves.

A couple of years ago, he took apart his brother's computer to add a sound card. He perched on the chair with one foot on the floor, and the other foot on the seat, his knee bent up by his chin. A minor industrial accident occurred, perhaps due to his slippery fingers. A small hole was gouged into the flesh of his hand. I applied a Scooby Doo Band-Aid to staunch the flow of his life fluid from the newly-opened spigot. As he was finishing the task and putting the cover back on the computer, he called for my attention.

"See that?" Genius pointed to the floor under the chair. I peered at the tile, expecting to see some crimson drops of blood. "That's a puddle of sweat that dripped off my foot."

World. Record. Holder.