My face gets red and my mouth goes dry all at once.
A flash of cold washes over me and I start feeling sick; like I could really, possibly be sick right there (wherever 'there' may be). Now is when I start to sweat.
When I am uncomfortable, my whole body sweats and any fabric laying against my skin becomes blotting paper for the perspiration; it is discolored quickly.
I know at this point, that there is only a certain amount of time left before I start to stink.
There is no moisture in my mouth and I know that anything I say will be hard to understand at this point. My tongue feels as if it may clog each one of my nervous gulps (which all take coordination and effort) but meanwhile I cannot stem the flow of moisture coming from my palms. I try to surreptitiously dry them, but my expectations are pretty low, to be honest.
When I absolutely cannot get out of speaking to someone, there is a wobble in my voice and I know that it isn't my imagination- everyone definitely hears it. I struggle to understand what is being said when I'm being asked a question that I am THEN expected to hear, process and reply to. Voice wobbling is the disguise that falls apart if I must say an entire sentence, and there is no hiding the full-blown vocal tremors in that case.
Since I am feeling uncomfortable, my (sweaty) hands will start to shake as well.
I can put my hands in my pockets, make tight fists of them, rubbing each in turn to relax them.
I can try to squash them by sitting on them or by jamming them under my armpits. My fingers reach for Gibbs- for his full, dark coat, which is long enough at his ruff to conceal the worst of my shaking. Giving Gibbs a good, satisfying scratch is the perfect excuse to keep my hands hidden, and he enjoys when I itch underneath his collar(s) and vest for him.
I cannot continue. Leaning down to reach Gibbs' chest created a roaring sensation between my ears, accompanied by darkness at the edges of my vision. Passing out would, most assuredly, make me feel even MORE uncomfortable, and that threat makes me lean on Gibbs until I am squatting beside him. I'm not red in the face anymore- momentary plus!- but I know that only because I can feel how pale I've become. The world still seems to keel and pitch just like a sloop of war in rough seas, and I shakily tangle one hand in the fur between Gibbs' shoulder blades to anchor myself. Less than 1 minute passes before I am back to feeling the standard uncomfortable.
Gibbs doesn't mind; he doesn't think that stuff is a big deal.
