The word of the day is swass

Swass. That fantastic smushing of the words sweaty and ass to form the perfect descriptor for the puddle of liquid that inevitably seeps into your shorts/skirt/pants while seated on a plastic chair enjoying summery cocktails on a crowded patio on a bitch-hot summer day.

Not sure if that's how Webster's would define it, but sure does work for me.

And boy, does it ever happen to me!!

Tonight was, of course, the second installment of the Tuesday Night Distraction Club. Ceije from WB stopped by with a friend, JBJ joined us a bit later, and Madame Monkey Kiss (MMK for short) made five.

Yet again, I believe a good time was had by all. We did very well in our six degrees of separation game (Ceije's friend works at the same company as my sister and Ceije knows of JBJ's husband via school) and even better at making fun of our waiter's ridiculously sculpted do.

And we swassed - boy, did we swass. So much so, that I was relatively nervous to rise to a standing position as it came time to leave. I was in jean shorts, primarily because I'd been at a retreat today in a building with no air conditioning (must be the universe getting me back for something bad I've done lately) and had spent the day in a mildly swassy state. It was so bad that I even went back to my office for an hour or two once we were done, just to cool down.

And to give my swass a chance to dry before I hit the patio.

That mission was most certainly accomplished but as we all know, once you've swassed, there's really no recovering, no going back to that blissful, pre-swass state. You're just destined to live with it until you get home and can change or shower or, at the very least, wring out your panties.

Aw come on, you know you were thinking it too.....you would if you could! 'Cause yes, sometimes it DOES get that bad.

Blech. I really feel like taking a shower to remove the swass of the day, but I'm honestly too tired to even contemplate the whole soaping thing, much less endure the rigors of the toweling off process. So instead, I will make my way upstairs, strip down, hop into bed and prepare myself for Hubs' arrival - if he ever kicks the boys out.

Yes, the D&D geek patrol are still here. Still. Here. As in, not gone.

Methinks a little swassy spooning is order. Maybe that'll teach him to have them gone before 10.

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?