spots, fever, layers, song and shower

In the late afternoon, in the family home of my teenage years, I noticed a ring of raised red skin on my forehead, and another on my chest below my collar bone. I went to my father, who was sitting in his chair in the lounge room, to show him. We found a few more and I was a little perplexed. I needed to be somewhere in about half an hour (a class?) and I noticed I was wearing a green tailored suit, not at all suitable for where I was going. I thought I'd race upstairs and leave the jacket on but swap the pants for jeans; however, in the process of dressing, I realised I was thoroughly saturated with perspiration. I needed to have a shower and quickly. In the bathroom, with the door locked, I began to undress and, while I did, I sang. The acoustics of the bathroom were wonderful and I played with pitch, high and low, devising the song as I went. My clothes, soaked through, were difficult to peel away, and I seemed to remove layer upon layer. Jumpers, tops and more tops. Pants under pants under pants. Even when I finally made it down to my underwear, I found I was wearing several bras and layers of underpants. People - not family - began to queue at the door, waiting to use the bathroom, and I knew I was running late. After discovering yet another layer of underwear, I decided that I would shower regardless. I closed the glass door behind me and washed away the sweat, all the while singing a lilting, lovely song. Upon finishing, the door opened and two old women wandered in. I tried, kindly, to usher them out, encouraging them to wait just a few more minutes while I dressed.