I melt in the subway, on the streets, in my sleep, before work, after work. This evening I tried in vain to reach behind me on a crowded uptown no. 1 train to wipe, through my shirt, the bead of sweat running down the hollow of my spine. And now I sit in my apartment with chronic forehead perspiration and my box fan placed strategically on the floor to circulate warm air in my direction while the backs of my legs lightly dampen the microsuede of the couch. Even the inside of the pantry is warm. I had to put my protein bars in the refrigerator.
Why I'll splurge on a new outfit at H&M or cocktail hour at the bar - yet I haven't bought an air conditioner, I'm not quite sure I know. Maybe because my window won't accommodate a window unit or wall slide-in. And according to every PC Richards in this city, I have to purchase the $399 in-sleeve A/C and pay an additional $80 to have it delivered and installed in the sleeve under my window. It just pains me to spend that kind of money when a window unit can cost as little as $99.
I've been talking myself in and out of the purchase for weeks while I swim in my bedsheets during the heat waves and convince myself I can get through the summer every time the temperature returns to a comfortable degree.
And so tonight, I swim again. I know, I know. Cry you a river. It's so hot. Poor her. Blah-blah-blah. If I can't determine the importance of an A/C over a week's worth of happy hours with friends and coworkers, I really can't have it that bad. I probably won't cry you a river, but I could definitely sweat you one.