Let’s just say that this

Let’s just say that this was the hottest, sweatiest day ever. Ever!

After work, Steve #2 and I went to Coasters, an otherwise forgetable bar/resto on Parc and Prince Arthur, which warrants our patronage only by virtue of a good beer list and a large terrace. We quaffed some Blanche de Chambly with lemon and then made our way to the Spanish restaurant down the street, La Bodega, for the annual STC spring banguet.

The short walk had me sweating buckets. I think I’m slow to acclimatize, but 33° Celcius and humid is stiffling by anyone’s standards. We dined in the al fresco area, which is to say, not air conditioned, so my sweating continued to the point of embarassment. Finally, after dinner, someone put an ice cube down my back, which was the greatest gift I could hope for at the time.

I followed it with another cube of my own direction. I wiggled it until it went down my pants and got stuck in the crack of my ass where it melted slowly and refreshingly. Talk about a cooler! I recommend it!

Then we walked to McKibbins Pub, on Bishop Street, and sat in yet another un-airconned room wherein I sweated more, and then I walked home, which worked up another sweat.

So even though it’s 1:30 am, it’s still as hot as the hobbs of Hell (whatever that means) and now I have to try to sleep so I can get up early and high-tail it to Ottawa, where I’m meeting the famous Suki for brunch and a lecture on Klimt at the National Gallery.

Incidently, although I was warned by about ten people at the banquet that one Lisa MacDonald of Cambridge, England, had contracted a wedgie upon my poor corpus, I managed to escape, unscathed, primarily because I let it be known that in my current state of sweatiness, anyone grabbing my dainties with intent to wedgie would be more traumatized than I!