The wrong kinda hot and steamy

All of me loves all of you. Love all your curves and all your edges, all your perfect imperfections… you’re my end and my beginning…

That is some song to wake up with. If I had a boyfriend I would demand breakfast in bed. And if he wouldn’t agree I’d blame it all on John Legend. All of him.

In the sauna I still hum his tune, which is a little weird because if ever you feel really bad about yourself, you should visit a sauna. That will surely cure you from every complex you have, ever had or ever will have. Even your curves and imperfections, because after you’ve seen others yours won’t ever seem that bad anymore.

The older lady, spread on her towel like a sea gull dropping, smiles at me when she hears me hum so I stop, immediately. Cold turkey. Boom. I was just humming, nothing personal. But she tries to start a conversation and I smile because that’s what you are suppose to do according to society and propriety. But in the meantime I move near Macy  and just nod. Uhuh. Until she finally leaves. ‘Why?’ I cry. I lay down on my towel with my own scrawny back.

‘Why would you sing All of me loves all of your curves and your edges in a sauna filled with old and bubbly and squishy people.’ I laugh so loud my own sweat drops fly about the room.
‘I woke singing this song in the morning,’ I try and defend myself.
‘You wake up singing? That’s either very odd or you must be a hidden talent,’ says Macy.
‘Well, in my opinion mornings are highly overrated. In a world where society is dominated and ruled by the tyranny of the morning people, I feel that mornings are highly overrated. We get up early to go to work, we bring our children to school, early in the morning, we watch the news, all of it early in the morning. Now what about the evening people? Don’t they have rights?’
‘And hours.’
‘Of their own.’
‘Moments for the evening people.’
‘In the evening.’
‘Noon breakfasts.’
‘Diner lunches.’
‘Late night news.’
‘With wasted mornings and productive night fire ups.’
‘Like night fuel.’
‘And late night accelerations. Like power to the max starts at six.’

‘That’s right, so stop singing in the morning, woman. It’s just not classy.’
‘It’s despicable, that’s what it is. I’ll never do it again. Waking up singing, whoever came up with such a thing. A seven o’clock gig is torture, that’s what it is.’
My boyfriend is going to be really boring, I think to myself. So far for the Rock star.
‘You can kiss your rock star goodbye,’ says Macy getting up from her brightly coloured towel and wrapping it around her like a blanket. I frown.

I get up from my towel, but suddenly I hesitate. Macy and I look at each other and she sits down again next to me. ‘I take it all back,’ I say.
‘All of it?’ she asks.
‘All of it and me. For that I will always sing in the morning,’ I whisper, but for some reason Mitchel jumps into my head. I have to shake him off, immediately. ‘I love all his curves and all his edges. All of it. All six of them.’We try not to look at the newcomer, but it’s not easy.

So we sit this one out ‘till we can stand the heat no more.

The cold splash comes as a warm shock after our long sauna stretch. The sintering feeling of all your organs waking up simultaneously, in an instant, boom, there they are, their resonance coming through your pores. I’m alive!

‘Please don’t start dancing,’ Macy urges, ‘it’s just ridiculous when people dance when they are naked.’
‘Don’t you feel it.’
‘Yes, but I don’t flaunt it.’
And out comes the hotty with all his perfect perfections. We pause, groan and wag. ‘Can I take him home?’ I ask.
‘No, you sing in the morning. You need therapy.’
‘But you already have a boyfriend. And I want one just like him.’

But then he sits down next to his girlfriend.

‘Shoot. Hey, don’t snuggle in a sauna. That is just not proper hot sweat decorum.’
‘Better luck next time, baby. Your time will come. Hang in there.’ I wrap myself up in my towel like a present.
‘Well, all of me will just have to enjoy my own singing all by myself. What a waste of talent.’
Macy puts an arm around me. ‘Cheer up, there is always Mitchel.’
‘No way. He looks as much as that guy as my mother looks like Claudia Schiffer.’

The phone rings. It’s Mitchel, my totally failed date from a week ago. He wants a second date. I say yes. I hang up. ‘Have I gone mad?’ Macy looks at me like she sees a volcano erupt. I feel like a volcano just erupted in me. Macy nods.
‘All of me?’
‘All your curves and your freaky imperfections.’


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