Delta40
02-07-2011, 05:36 PM
I don't know why one thigh chafes when the other doesn't. It is not like I have rubbed the sore thigh against anything other than the thigh which isn't red. Science can probably explain it but for the time being, I can't walk to the shop without gritting my teeth. It's right up high, in the soft, sweaty folds. Honestly, is this the sort of pain I need to endure so I look like I'm out and about, a participating member of society just so the ads can perpetuate our beliefs in what 'should' be.
I don't believe it.
On my couch, its very comfy by the way, everything is at my fingertips. The remotes to the telly, air conditioning and the dvd player. To my left is an open book case. This means there are only steel frames. I slide my coffee, chocolate, yoghurt, blue cheese and crackers while I watch endless interesting stuff about the exciting lives of others. Why not? I have the time. I don't work anymore and the kids live a few thousand K's away.
Years ago, when they ran between me, around me, I prayed for this day of peace. Motherhood was like retribution for being young, sexy and on the take. Now, well, I just want peace. I've got it too. In abundance. I'm growing, I think. I mean, when I look back at what I endured, I really have grown. I can smile at the memories of raising children but that isn't who I am anymore. I know you're thinking I've gained a few pounds. I have ok? but what spills over the couch is the price I paid for motherhood. I'm done with ****ty smells. I only want pleasantness in my life now.
The smells that emanate from the bakery on my street guide me. Each morning at 8.00am I peel my bare skin from the leather and throw a towelling sack dress over my ample proportions. Have you ever noticed how much one's bones, click, creak in protest? When I was younger I was the queen handstander. I could do ballerina, walkathon, milkshake, banana splits. Now, just to raise my arms over my head, I feel a muscle straining to the point where it could tear. I have to move slower too.
Never mind, I can still walk. Once I can't, the bakery will deliver for a small fee. I shuffle, or perhaps waddle is the better term down the road to the bakery. I puff as I take each step. Legs like tree trunks. Within a few steps, I start to feel the burning in my upper thigh. It's blistering now. As the good leg sticks and unsticks to the sticky bits, I wince in the summer morning.
Just last night after my shower, I lay flat on my back naked and strained as I lifted my fat legs toward breasts that so easily slip to one side. I looked like a baby waiting to get its nappy changed. The parrafin cream was messy. I fumbled, wondering which hand was the best hand to explore down there and apply the soothing cream to the blistery area. I settled on the right but the tube was so greasy, it shot out of my left hand and hit me in the face. Finally I managed to squeeze some out. I parted the rolls of fat with my free hand and delved deeply till I found the area. So tender, weepy and super sensitive to the touch. I rubbed the paraffin in. Little circles soothed and I breathed a soft sigh of relief. Were it possible, I would lie like this all day, applying soft dabs of cream to my tender area. Alas, gravity takes it toll and it is too much to hold such a ridiculous position. By myself I could get hurt. Imagine someone else pressing down upon me, thrusting, pressing my cellulite legs into my face......I apply a few more dabs in circular motion as I contemplate this.
Now, as I grimace in pain again, I wonder why I didn't apply it before I left. Possibly because I was busy rubbing vaseline along the pendlous lengths of my loose breasts to ease the awful sweat rash flourishing under the droopy parts that spill onto my tummy. It takes time, everything takes time as I rub from the top and work my way slowly down to the peaks that no longer have a point to make.
I struggle on and hope the bakery has an apple and walnut loaf fresh out of the oven.
I don't believe it.
On my couch, its very comfy by the way, everything is at my fingertips. The remotes to the telly, air conditioning and the dvd player. To my left is an open book case. This means there are only steel frames. I slide my coffee, chocolate, yoghurt, blue cheese and crackers while I watch endless interesting stuff about the exciting lives of others. Why not? I have the time. I don't work anymore and the kids live a few thousand K's away.
Years ago, when they ran between me, around me, I prayed for this day of peace. Motherhood was like retribution for being young, sexy and on the take. Now, well, I just want peace. I've got it too. In abundance. I'm growing, I think. I mean, when I look back at what I endured, I really have grown. I can smile at the memories of raising children but that isn't who I am anymore. I know you're thinking I've gained a few pounds. I have ok? but what spills over the couch is the price I paid for motherhood. I'm done with ****ty smells. I only want pleasantness in my life now.
The smells that emanate from the bakery on my street guide me. Each morning at 8.00am I peel my bare skin from the leather and throw a towelling sack dress over my ample proportions. Have you ever noticed how much one's bones, click, creak in protest? When I was younger I was the queen handstander. I could do ballerina, walkathon, milkshake, banana splits. Now, just to raise my arms over my head, I feel a muscle straining to the point where it could tear. I have to move slower too.
Never mind, I can still walk. Once I can't, the bakery will deliver for a small fee. I shuffle, or perhaps waddle is the better term down the road to the bakery. I puff as I take each step. Legs like tree trunks. Within a few steps, I start to feel the burning in my upper thigh. It's blistering now. As the good leg sticks and unsticks to the sticky bits, I wince in the summer morning.
Just last night after my shower, I lay flat on my back naked and strained as I lifted my fat legs toward breasts that so easily slip to one side. I looked like a baby waiting to get its nappy changed. The parrafin cream was messy. I fumbled, wondering which hand was the best hand to explore down there and apply the soothing cream to the blistery area. I settled on the right but the tube was so greasy, it shot out of my left hand and hit me in the face. Finally I managed to squeeze some out. I parted the rolls of fat with my free hand and delved deeply till I found the area. So tender, weepy and super sensitive to the touch. I rubbed the paraffin in. Little circles soothed and I breathed a soft sigh of relief. Were it possible, I would lie like this all day, applying soft dabs of cream to my tender area. Alas, gravity takes it toll and it is too much to hold such a ridiculous position. By myself I could get hurt. Imagine someone else pressing down upon me, thrusting, pressing my cellulite legs into my face......I apply a few more dabs in circular motion as I contemplate this.
Now, as I grimace in pain again, I wonder why I didn't apply it before I left. Possibly because I was busy rubbing vaseline along the pendlous lengths of my loose breasts to ease the awful sweat rash flourishing under the droopy parts that spill onto my tummy. It takes time, everything takes time as I rub from the top and work my way slowly down to the peaks that no longer have a point to make.
I struggle on and hope the bakery has an apple and walnut loaf fresh out of the oven.