Wanna touch my back?

Yesterday was warm. Real warm. Something like 30+°C with a humidex of 40°C. Sang and I were unloading stuff from my car into his apartment, which is really only barely air conditioned. It has a window box air conditioner, which I think cools the imediate surroundings pretty well (i.e. if you sit on the chair next to it, you feel ok). Sang, however, thinks it just makes noise, so it is rarely turned on.

As we were waiting for the elevator, Sang was telling me how sweaty his back was (he had just come back from a bike ride) and was daring me to touch it. Yuck! At first I refused, but then we decided that if he would touch mine, I would touch his. We had our shirts up to facilitate sweaty back touching, when, of course, the elavator door opened to reveal an older woman waiting inside. Oops!

We were both embarassed and quickly pulled our shirts down. This was one of those times where I figured that truth was stranger than fiction, but still I felt obligated to tell her why we were so strange. I think she believed me (probably better than the alternative) and we happily prattled about the weather down until the main floor. Well, I was certainly prattling. When I am nervous, I sometimes start to babble.

In the meantime, I think Sang and I have learned a valuable lesson about public places and untimely entrances.