So here we are..the first day of school, at least for some of the bigger districts in Wisconsin. Peaches is starting high school, Skippy is starting his last semester of high school.
But I'm not here to drip sentimentality all over you.
No I'm here today to talk about another of my growing list of odd ailments.
Apparently...I have prickly heat.
I know...what person over the age of 3 gets prickly heat?
Well, I guess I do. At least I'm hoping that's what it is as opposed to what I've been calling it which is "A rash fat women get in various crevices of their lumpy fat rolls."
Yes, Prickly Heat sounds better. Cool, in sort of an old Western movie sort of way. Like John Wayne would walk in a say, "Ma'am, that's a mighty fine batch of biscuits you're cookin' there, but why don't you set a spell and take some easy from that Prickly Heat that's tormenting you?"
See, if you say it that way, it sounds almost romantic.
Reality, for me, is of course far more hilarious.
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| Parting the Red Sea was just a cover for a raging case of prickly heat. |
I've been suffering from this rash in odd places for about a week. No amount of Benadryl, calamine lotion, or scratching seems to help. The worst of it is in my elbow and knee pits. You know where those are, stop laughing and pay attention! Standing at my desk with my arms open wide isn't allowed at my place of work (What...no Christ complexes allowed at Dunder Mifflin? How about a really convincing Moses?).
I have to suffer as my acidic sweat (Those of you paying attention remember that I cannot wear Sterling Silver because of my acidic sweat. I really should be analyzed. My sweat might be worth money, like Panda Bear pooh is right now because they THINK Panda pooh they can make into grain alcohol and burn it as a fuel. I'm not making this up. Brian from the The Bob and Brian show said it this morning, and that makes it so. Brian does not lie. And if we can use the pooh of Pandas for good, how much longer before we realize that sweat that can eat through sterling silver is worth something?) collects in the various pits of my lumpy form.
But none of that is the funny part.
No, the funny part came, as it usually does, while Hubby was trying to help. Baby powder, says he, will cure your sweaty suffering.
I'm so excited about this find, because I know, I KNOW that it will be the cure to my itchy ailment. So I shower, and I dry off. Then I open the green bottle of the powder and apply...liberally.
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| Beautiful form, long legged extensions...All covers for a raging case of prickly heat. |
I apply it to the affected areas and to my other sweaty spots. Ladies...you know where I'm going with this. Bette Midler style, I hoist up the gals and dust with the soothing white powder. And then I return them to their customary droop. The powder, that isn't stuck to the prickly pits blows off me like new snow in a Budweiser commercial. But what sticks covers my rash and the itch seems to dissipate.
As I emerge from the bathroom, (And I should mention I look like a Soviet Olympic weight lifter at this point and the bathroom looks like Nadia Comenici's parallel bars) I and filled with a tingle of optimism.
No...that's not optimism.
THAT'S MENTHOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Green...green means mint. Green means menthol. Green means a minty, mentholly fresh tingle that eases into a chilly cold burn when moisture is added. AND I HAVE PUT THIS ON MY SWEATY SPOTS. ALL OF MY SWEATY SPOTS!
Do you know what sort of calms the effect menthol has on sweaty skin? Because I do. It's a sort of weird little dance that keeps your droopy bits from sticking to any other skin, thereby trapping the menthol in a moist 98 degree cooker ready to explode with an icy menthol burn.
After a few moments, it passed. And there I stood, in the middle of the kitchen, a little circle of excess powder around me, my husband trying very hard not to laugh.
BUT you know what? My elbow pits aren't driving me crazy. Bonus...I'll bet that dancing counts as a workout. Which means I don't feel guilty about not going to Gold's today!
WHOO HOO! BRING ON MORE MENTHOL!
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