You probably don't want to read this.

The last couple of days it's been in the mid-90s by afternoon, and above 80 by the time I get out for my morning run. I've been thinking I need to get myself one of those water belts with all the little bottles evenly weighted around the hips, but I'm first of all, I'm too lazy to actually go buy one, and secondly I don't see myself as such a hard-core runner that I can justify the doofiness of wearing the belt. The belt implies marathons and triathlons; it definitely doesn't say "I'm going to go home and eat ice cream for breakfast." Show me the belt that says that and we'll talk.

So I've been running on my merry dehydrated way, and though I know it's a bad sign to stop sweating when I was singlehandedly raising the level of the San Antonio River a minute before, I've been happy knowing that I don't look like a person who wears a water belt. I was happy until today. About two miles from home with no way to cut the run short, I realized I wasn't going to get home without a water infusion. I was stumbling a little, and though the river was right there I was pretty sure that falling in wasn't going to help my thirst in a way I'd feel good about later. So I pulled my emergency twenty from in back of my iPod (kept there for muggers and spontaneous latte needs) and went into the only non-sitdown restaurant on the Riverwalk. Starbucks. So I'll buy ethically bottled water, good for me.

I grab a bottle of water, drink half of it, and get in line to pay. Only, because this is Texas, the fact that there were three people in line in front of me meant that I waited 20 minutes. Yes, 20 minutes. And I'm not glistening with a ladylike dew. I'm drenched with sweat. The water hits my system and immediately pours back out. People probably assume that I have fallen in the river. I try to leave a courteous space between me and the person in front of me, but someone gets in line behind and stands close. I feel the sweat running down my arms. I'm going to puddle. GROSS! I wish I hadn't opened the bottle, I could have drunk the free water on the counter and been out of here by now. A drop of sweat runs down my ponytail and hits the back of my leg. I'M SO GROSS! I consider tossing my money on the counter and leaving, but I'm unemployed and $20 is too much for a bottle of water if you're unemployed. Or if you're a millionaire, $20 is too much for a bottle of water. I've been meaning to change out the $20 for a $5, why the hell haven't I???

The barista is still ringing up that first person. They're talking about the weather and how much the visitor is going to love San Antonio. She's not going to like it long if she slips in my pool o' sweat! Let me out of here! Move faster! I try to communicate this with my eyes and thoughts, but the barista just gives me a grin. My shirt is suddenly stuck to me with sweat. My socks are wet. AAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!

I think I must have blacked out from embarrassment, because I made it home. But I'm pretty sure I can never go to that Starbucks again.

Until next time there's a water emergency, at least.