The Moment

Arthur checked his watch.

Immediately, an impossibly large bead of sweat grew in the deep, upper reacher of his underarm.

Isn’t it a quirk of our being that we are something like 70% water (making Arthur about 80 kg worth of the stuff), encouraged to drink at least 40,000 water droplets daily, yet we are acutely aware when a single bead forms in such a nether region.


Initially, this single droplet clung desperately to a single hair. Like a skier at the top of a run, I can only assume it was surveying the landscape, plotting the safest course.

With a sturdy meniscus as its shield, the rogue suddenly descended. Intermittently picking up speed before slowing to negotiate waves of fat and explicitly erect bodily hairs. Needless to say, the process requires slalom-like skills to accomplish.

Skilfully crossing crevasses like an Antarctic explorer until finally meeting its match at Arthur’s belt – clasped at least two notches too tightly. Spreading itself along an inch or two of his belt before finally being reabsorbed, Arthur felt a shiver quiver through his spine.

The intrepid traveller had paved the way for others to follow. Like the first person at a party to attack the dodgy looking finger food before passing on the all clear to a hungry groups of individuals nervously cowering i nthe corner, watching only from the side of their eyes but all of their interest and the entirety of their heart.

And didn’t they come with a rush!?

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