Every plumpy-thighed girl has experienced this in the high summer. The setting: an amusement park- only the funnest place on earth, gosh-dangit! The ride: The Wave- gonna beat the heat today, boy! The rest of the day: walking around with wet, chafe-y clothing. The result: inner thighs so raw there are surely grizzly bears all the way out in Montana smelling their way to you right now. Sure, you say, this could happen to me, but it’s not like you’re at Valley Fair every day! True, but tell that to the sweaty meat patties I tenderize under my skirt whenever I walk more than two blocks in the sticky summer heat.
Through miracles of Science and Technology, Sweaty-Bodied Engineers have formulated Body Glide, The Original Anti-Chafe! With it’s unique…blah blah fake science-y sounding advertisement words, etc…your thighs will be freed from the slavery of chafing!
WELL, THAT SOUNDS TERRFIC!…
…you say. And it is! But is this product designed for YOU, chubby? Not a chance! It’s designed for runners, those who hold the world by the balls. They’ll be around long after we’re all dead, and I’m not talking because of their longer life expectancy. Nope. The apocalypse, my friends. But we’ll save the conspiracy theorizing for those other blogs.
I LIED. I BOLD-FACE LIED to get my precious stick of Body Glide. I’ll follow that by saying I am terrible at lying and abhor the act. So, even telling a little white lie becomes a traumatic event. I’m not a fancy, moral-less businessman who got where he is today through a string of intricate lies! Anyway. Moving on. So I make myself uncomfortable enough by going into the fancy running store where even a pair of shoe laces costs as much as I make in a day. Staff is friendly enough, but in that “friendly-to-profile-your-needs-and-see-how-much-I-can-get-you-to-buy” kind of way. I take my modest stick of thigh lube up to the counter. “Just Body Glide today? Excellent! What race are you training for?” Panic! My thoughts: TRAINING FOR? Ummm… walking to the grocery store at 9 in the evening to get a pint of ice cream? Uhh… walking around in a skirt without looking like a bow-legged ranch hand? Hmm…LIE TO HER! YOU CAN’T TELL HER THESE THINGS! “Uh, it’s for my roommate? She is the runner (true).” IDIOT. They don’t even care! Why didn’t you tell them the truth?
It reminded my of my grandpa who, every time he buys pipe tobacco, tells the cashier it’s for his brother. Well, it’s a small town, grandpa, and the cashier knows that you don’t even have a brother. Lying for self-preservation, to feel absolved from your sins ain’t no good. You’re a sinner, but you still deserve to have chafe-free gams next time you go for that late night ice-cream! Also, you can eat a pint of ice cream once and a while, and still be fucking hot. And you can (and probably should) work out just to feel healthy and good.