Princesses don't sweat.

5:43 AM

   This didn't never used to happen to me. I was never the sweating kind. Yes, there is alway use to deoderant and while I was studying dance of course I came home with sopping wet dance clothes to wash, but this never used to happen.
   When I saw it happen to my BIL or my own husband I would feel bad for them all the while feeling happy for me that it didn't happen.
   Not like this. The times when I would see a woman with sweat stains under her armpits I would cringe (and feel bad for her, but mostly cringe).
   But now I am cringing for myself. And feeling dirty. And feeling like everyone sees me as dirty. This never even happened to me during my first pregnancy. It was after, during the breastfeeding times. And then it just never went away.
   Of course it doesn't help that I live in a city enclosed on one side by a river and on the other by a canal. When it is hot here it is humid. It also doesn't help that I walk everywhere always pushing either a single or double stroller. No air-conditioned car for me. Don't have one. Wouldn't use it in the center even if I did have one. Not practical. Kinda like my new side-by-side double stroller in this medieval city. Not practical.   
   Which leaves me doing more exerices which leads me to more sweating. Today I have never felt dirtier, never felt more like a man. But it is okay that a man sweats. It isn't okay that a woman sweats. Not like this. Not with giant drips of sweat running down her back and off her boobs, soaking into her shirt until it has changed color. Not beads forming on her forehead over the beads already there, her body producing the beads of sweat faster than she can find a "graceful" way of wiping them off. And the worst one of all that never happens to a man: the beads of sweat that absorb the make-up she actually spent time putting on for her daycare interview only to have her shirt collar start to collect a rainbow of colors not there before.
   It was bad enough that the woman interviewing me at the daycare actually gave me a sympathetic smile as I tried to "dab" my forehead with my used tissue. Yes, I was that desperate. Didn't help any though as my shirt told the truth. As I looked at the Duke's former residence near my house it suddenly dawned on me: I could never make it as a princess. Princesses don't sweat. They would have rather sent me to the guillotine than have a princess as gross as me. I just hope me girls fare better than me!

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