When sea levels rise and submerge most of Seattle under the briny deep, our house will still be dry. That’s the good news. The bad news: I have to bike uphill to get home from work. I get to choose between a half mile of steady grind, or a long stretch of false flat followed by two blocks of steep. No matter what I choose, I pull into my garage sweaty and out-of-breath. In general, my attitude is, “Sweat dries.” I don’t mind hanging around my family in this state. (You’ll have to ask Molly if she minds my appearance at the dinner table.)
But then there are the days I need to pick up the kids from school. Those days, I pedal into the garage, panting. I hang up my bike then immediately head to the car to get the kids. The school is close to the house, so my face is still red and my hair is still damp when I arrive. Every other parent wears respectable business attire. They engage me in polite smalltalk even though I look ridiculous. My collar sticks uncomfortably to the back of my neck. It’s not enough that I’m a slovenly software developer, I’m now a sweaty slovenly software developer.
When the boys reach That Age, I’m going to give them plenty to be embarrassed about. Add this to the list.