moist

I read a poll, once, that found that women do not like the word "moist". It is, in fact, one of our least favorite words, according to this poll, and I agree whole-heartedly. "Overly-dry" does not bring to mind the most pleasant connotations, but "moist"--the feel of it, the sound of it, the smell of it--unless I'm talking about a cake, it is a word I tend to avoid. Moistness seeps into my bones and makes my knees hurt. I used to live in a very moist house. Infrequently worn shoes and old belts in the closet would mildew. Books would mildew. It felt as if I would wake up some morning with mold growing between my toes. I've been fortunate in my current home--dry closets, plenty of ventilation in the crawl space. However, I've had a small leak in my roof for two years. It was a bedeviling leak that outsmarted even the contractor boyfriend. This leak dripped a hole in my garage ceiling. But worse than that, it created moist conditions in the attic and the garage. Moist conditions that drew ants. Moist conditions that caused a lingering odor of mildewy dampness. I despised this leak. Finally, just this past week, after a week of heavy rains, when things could really get no moister, when even the air in my lungs felt damp and rattlely, boyfriend found and fixed the leak. I am thrilled. Moistness will eventually loose it's rotting death grip on my attic.