I glow, thank you.

I’ve come to accept it as a fact. I’m a sweater. Not like a cardigan or pullover; I’m one who sweats profusely. I’ll admit that Dove Clinical Strength deoderant is a staple in our house. And I wear colors that don’t show sweat easily, when I know it will be a particularly juicy day. I live my life and don’t let the sweat hold me back.

It’s not just working out, which is when anyone lets the fluids flow. There is a 100 percent chance that if I’m speaking Spanish to someone, my conjugations are accompanied by sweat and confusion. There is an 85 percent chance that if I’m speaking to a group of four people or more, my hands will get clammy and I’ll have to clamp my arms to my sides for the duration — so as not to reveal my problem. There is a 50 percent chance, depending on my location and time of day, that if I cry or laugh until I cry, my eyes will not be the only part that exudes liquid.

My friends and family think it’s endearing and funny, as long as I’m not sitting on their leather couches or wearing their shirts. My problem is when I forget that sweating isn’t necessarily normal in all situations and that not everyone knows or accepts my condition.

Just a few months into my new job, I had a stressful phone conversation followed by a stressful technology glitch. When I approached my boss to get some help, she asked, “How are you today?” and I promptly responded, “I”m sweaty.”

To me, in that situation, sweaty = stressed out, too warm, near-panic mode. To a normal person, in that situation, sweaty = awkward, too much information, unattractive.

Later that day, when I realized how weird it was of me to describe my well-being in those two words, I started to dwell on it. Wasn’t that unprofessional? Why would I say that? What did my boss think? Does she think I’m so gross?

And my husband, the encouraging and laid-back guy that he is, simply quipped, “Don’t sweat it.”

Easy for him to say.