an irish spring

Is anybody else sweating more than usual this Spring? I mean, Springtime is the season when my sweaty nature returns in all its glory, but it has been like a freaking Sergio Leone film with me for the last few weeks, irregardless of my being in a cold office or the ever-warming out of doors.

Perhaps it's all the tap and/or river dancing. I told you stop flailing your arms like a spastic bastard.

Wasn't that an eighties band?

You're thinking of Spandau Ballet.

That certainly looks more like a collection of spastic bastards to me.

I know that much is true.

Was that a shot of them crossing the Delaware?

Yes. Not many people know this, but the Revolutionary War pitted our God-fearing, yet atheistic founding fathers against the most androgynous of British pop musical offerings from the nineteen eighties.

I still don't understand why we didn't get that history teaching gig.

Neither do I. Our paper on "Cornwallis and Kajagoogoo" was nothing short of brilliant.

But seriously, why am I so sweaty?