Friday, September 19, 2008
Chub rub: fat girl hazard
I know fat thighs are cute on babies. Makes you want to nuzzle all their little dimples and nibble on the soft little folds on their knees. On grown women...not so much. This whole unholy chub rub problem...woooooo boy. Its the next morning and I'm still suffering from the after affects of having hamhocks for thighs.
We were in the O.C. yesterday, running a few errands at Coast Airbrush in Anaheim. Instead of sitting in the parking lot that is the 91 freeway, we decided to kill time by spending the rest of the day at Disneylandia. It was one of those spontaneous trips, the luxury of living nearby and having annual passes. The only problem was, I didn't have our passes in my wallet. So I got a little scolding from Michael, you should always have our passes in your purse because you just never know.
What my husband fails to realize is, I already carry the standard assortment of plastic in my wallet...add SEVEN Kaiser cards (yeh, SEVEN)...and SEVEN Disneyland annual pass cards...and about a thousand Ross and Target receipts...um, it makes my wallet kinda stuffed and bulky. Mmmmkay? Fortunately for us, they let you enter the park one time without your passes. So we made that hurdle.
Next was our attire. It was warm enough out where we didn't need hoodies. Everyone was wearing proper shoes. Everyone looked presentable. Everyone was fed. The only thing we had to do was eat the parking fee. No biggie.
I was wearing a sundress and flip flops and...no Spanx. Dear Lawd. You can imagine my conundrum. I knew I would be okay for a minute, as the fat between your legs forms a tight seal and no rubbing occurs. But that lasted until we got to the tram. Add the heat, sweat, friction...chub rub was in full effect.
What is a fat girl to do?
Powder doesn't work. Lotions won't work. Diaper rash cream flashed through my mind for an instant. Getting on a diet and lessening the amount of chub in your rub sounds like the only feasible (albeit unappealing) option.
By the end of the night, which ended blissfully by 8 pm when the park closed, was about all I could take. Pearmama was startin' fires! Fires, I tell you. Sitting on a block of party ice was looking really good after all was said and done. I can see it now, the steam billowing out all around me.
Note to self: always keep a spare pair of shorts and/or Spanx in the glove compartment. Just sayin'.