Ok, fair warning to my guy readers: this may not be the post for you. In fact, I’m pretty sure it isn’t…unless you want to be able to sympathize with the females in your life. Or send them the link.
Because I’m going to be talking about a woman problem, here, and you might not want to have this information, or potential visuals, running around your head. (No, I’m not going to provide any visuals, but if you’re imaginative at all, you might get a head full. I’m not responsible for any therapy bills)
Now that the guys are forewarned/vacated the post, ladies, can we have a chat?
There are more than a few things that women experience that men can’t. Lucky bastards. I’m not even going to get into the whole menstruating/labour/human head emerging from an oriface thing.
Let’s talk summer issues, mmmkay?
If you’re a woman with an ‘endowment’, you know what I’m talking about. The under the bra grossness that happens when your boobage is large enough to require a bra. Guys complain about itchy ‘nads and sweat, but they’ve got nothing on boob sweat. Bras should come with sweat bands for summer wearing. Or small towels. A Boob Bib, if you will.
And, if you’re REALLY lucky, you also get the delightful rash that reminds you of the worst sunburn you’ve ever had. Under your boobs.
Now, I’ve had some success with applying cornstarch under Ye Olde Mountain Range, but even cornstarch has its limits. At that point, I turn to my handy-dandy tea tree oil. Stinks like hell, stings, but seems to heal things quickly.
What I really want to do is just lay off the edge of my bed, like I’m doing a head stand, topless, so that my boobs cannot possibly touch anything, until it’s healed.
Because strapping an underwire on to what feels like a sunburn? Oh, yeah, gimme more of that! The Glory of Womanhood right there, folks. Yay.
Unfortunately for me, if my husband wandered into our room, found me topless and attempting a head stand, he’d take it as a come on. And burned feeling boobage does not a Sexy Time make. Plus, we have children. I can’t even indulge in the Sport of Moms (Speed Peeing) without someone yelling for me, banging at the door, or attempting to walk in on me. (Our next place WILL have more than one bathroom).
Then there’s the other fun thing that happens in the summer: swimming.
Now, I’m probably not shopping in the right places, but finding a bathing suit that actually keeps the Mountain Range in place? *snort* Yeah, ok, we all have our dreams. And if I do find a suit that has *some* support in it, it lasts about one wearing. And makes me look like I’m about to fall out all over the place.
But that’s not actually the worst thing. I’m a big fan of wearing a shirt over my suit, so I don’t risk a wardrobe malfunction.
The worst? Well, if you only go to the local pool, you don’t need to worry about it.
But, if you go to a lake, you’ll know what I’m getting at: Sand.
Sand, sand, sand.
We took the Minions to the lake the other day. It was record-breaking temperatures in my province, and we have 0 air conditioning. We even went in the evening, after Wolf was done work, avoided the you’re-gonna-burn-like-a-crisp part of the day and the majority of the crowds. Bonus, for me, was that the air temp and the water temp were close enough that I could be in the water and not risk flaring all to hell. (I kept my arm out, just to play it safe).
So, there I was, sitting in the shallows, keeping Boo company while he hucked pebbles around.
By the time I was home, I was itchy.
The shower was…enlightening.
I say ‘enlightening’ because ‘horrifying’ might make you wonder about my personal hygiene, or if there was a platoon of spiders that invaded my bathroom, and launched an attack.
I had sand in places that NO WOMAN should ever have sand. The Lady Garden isn’t meant to be a beach, you know what I’m saying? BLEARGH!
And, of course, completely stuck all over my top. Ye Olde Mountain Range had become Sand Dunes of Doom. Sand Dooms.
And that’s just from sitting in the shallows. Nobody buried me. Nobody dumped sand on my head, repeatedly.
Nope. Just waves and a sandy lake bottom.
That makes me call, “BULLDOODY!” on another Hollywood Romance thing. The whole, romantic interlude on the beach? The iconic scene from the movie, From Here To Eternity? This one:
Yeah, I know why she got up and ran. Sand. Sand EVERYWHERE.
There’s got to be a way to spend a day at the lake without bringing half the beach home.
I just haven’t figured out how yet.
If any of you ladies, who have any tips or tricks to avoid any of these summer hazards, I’d love to hear from you.