When I gain weight, it goes to my love handles, my gut and yes, my ass. I am such a girl. I also get it in my thighs. So what does this mean to you? Aside from a good laugh, and a visual you really did not want nor need… perhaps not too much.
As long as I wear loose clothes, I can hide it… But on a real down side, my thighs chaffe. What seems to happen is that my… how can I say this delicately… my… my fellas get stuck to my legs more often and then they chaffe, too. Especially during the heat of the summer.
It reminds me of when I was a kid, playing organized soccer. I was not much of an athlete (read understatement), and so I was stuck on defense all the time, as far away from the ball as possible. Most coaches will tell you to play the ball. Play the ball. Or is it play the man and not the ball? Anyway, the coaches would tell me, Marc stay away from the ball! Actually he wouldn’t tell me, he’d scream it. Do you remember the crazy, evil coach from The Bad News Bears… Coach Roy Turner, played by the wonderful and sadly late Vic Morrow… well, multiply that times ten and that was the man influencing young minds on my soccer team. Nice.
The way my parents tell the story, is that I would spend the majority of the game adjusting my cup. Cups in those days were big and hard and not at all comfortable. Although, there are days when I wish I had one now to impress the ladies. Do you remember the crazy bulges that dancers used to have? Seriously, watch Chorus Line, the movie. Come on!!! Is that really all real??? With me, of course, once the cup comes off all bets would also be off, but a guy can dream!
Anyway, there I was… bright blue socks pulled up to my knees, covering up some lovely white, sweaty shin guards… short, glossy blue shorts and a huge plastic cup. I was grabbing my groin more than your average rapper. If there was a penalty shot, I was ready before anyone else.
So… cut to adult years… above average white guy, possible and probable mid-life crisis… and not overly enjoying the heat of the summer… down there.
My brother and his family are visiting, which you may or may not know from the entry Helmet of Pain… and somehow, because men have no shame, we start talking about the chaffing and the pain the fellas were in… and I mention how it’s similar to the kind of rashes I had when I was a fricking baby.
As a complete side note, apparently when I was a baby, a nanny my mother hired, decided in her infinite ignorance, that covering me from head to toe in diapers would be a good way to keep me dry and not have to change me for the entire day. When my mother discovered this and the rash that enveloped me from head to toe, the nanny was gone.
So back to the real story… my brother asks if I use Gold Bond.
You mean the stuff from those cheesy commercials?
Isn’t that the powder old men use? The stuff you find at old-fashioned country clubhouses? I thought that’s for athlete’s foot?
Oh no. Not on your feet. You put it somewhere else.
And that is how I learned about the cooling, invigorating benefits of Gold Bonding your fellas.
My sister-in-law is apparently not too happy about having powder all over the bathroom, but the sensation one gets makes it a daily ritual and one my brother will not give up. He was incredulous that I had not been doing it for years, and was lamenting that he had not brought his travel size.
If you visit the Gold Bond web site, there are multiple offers and links for a free trial size… all of which seem to be expired and not working, so I am definitely not impressed with their web site maintenance.
I am impressed, however, with how good I feel… down there.
For the record, Rite Aid and CVS both make their own versions for a lot less… and I am guessing they have the same enjoyable effects. So go find the yellow container and go to town. And as the cool breeze rustles through your forest, think of my brother and me and men across this great nation all Gold James Bonding!
Live long and Gold Bond daily!