Yesterday I saw something abominable as I left the office after a busy workday. The automatic doors swung open, and it felt like I was walking into a stifling, steamy sauna. For a second, it was hard to breath. The air conditioning at my back was efficiently snuffed out, and, as I began walking toward my car, the sweltering Southern summer humidity clung to my skin almost wetly, sucking more energy from my body with every step I took. Mind you, this has not been an unusual feeling lately. All sorts of weather records have been broken this month — we’ve had triple-digit temps like no one has seen in decades. Uggghh!

About 20 feet from my car, I innocently glanced to the left. You know, just your typical looking-around-as-you-stroll type of glance. I’d looked to the right mere seconds before, and survived the experience extraordinarily well. There was no way I could have been prepared for what I saw next.

Right there in our parking lot — in front of God and everybody — a man walked to his car, talking on his cell phone, wearing an argyle sweater over a long-sleeved dress shirt.

What in the expansive, blue heavens would possess someone to wear that in THIS heat?? Is his office located in a refrigerator? Does he have a personality disorder which compels him to wear only outfits found in the 1982 LL Bean fall/winter catalog? Does his always-cold, elderly mother dress him? Is he in a sexually explosive, masochistic relationship with someone named Mistress Olga, who gets off knowing that her partner sits in a human stew of a sweatball all day? Is he wearing saran wrap as underwear?

Sometimes you just have to wonder about a person’s backstory.

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