My Flaming Loins

I discovered yesterday why "curvy" women do not wear skirts for athletic activity, or really any activity more strenuous than watching TV. We were planning a trip to the National Zoo in DC for a little reunion with our Hypnobabies classmates. Neil was not especially excited about the outing at first. Not because he didn't want to see them, but we had a birthday party on Saturday for our friends' kid and my homebody husband (like I'm any different) doesn't normally like to have more than one day's worth of events on any given weekend.

I spent more time than I care to say trying to decide what to wear. I wanted to look halfway decent because we were going out to lunch afterwards, but we were going to be outside for several hours first, so I had to be comfortable. I settled on a khaki skirt and white polo (tres LL Bean, I know). I had considered capris but figured they would be too hot and these legs don't leave the house in shorts since the baby was born, so a skirt seemed like a good choice.

We made good time driving there despite encountering a few obstacles accompanied by a few cross words. Not to mention the fact that my beloved is not especially comfortable driving in an urban setting. So he spent the whole time we were in the city hunched over the steering wheel a la Mr. Magoo, going a good 10 miles under the speed limit. When I laughingly commented on this, he sweetly said that he wanted to be careful to protect his family. His family. I felt like such a jerk. Of course, that didn't stop me from giggling, but I felt guilty about it.

We found our friends and started walking around. Pretty quickly we realized that it was hotter and more humid than would be optimal for a day at the zoo, walking miles and miles (or so it felt) on black asphalt sidewalks. After about half an hour, I started noticing some discomfort in the inner thigh area, but I brushed it off. By the hour mark, I was in serious pain, but as long as we stopped frequently I could separate the two raw pieces of flesh and recover a little. After two hours, it is quite possible that my thighs were throwing off sparks each time they rubbed together, they hurt so bad. I am not even sure I can accurately put into words the lightening bolts of pain being sent through my chafed thighs. Somehow I survived the experience, although there might have been some limping and a VERY pained expression on my face as we walked the two miles back to our car which was, of course, located at the absolute farthest parking space possible.

Mercifully, the rest of the day saw me (and my thighs) mostly sitting down. When we got home I immediately ran (hobbled) into the baby's room and put diaper creme on my legs, which helped alleviate some of the pain. I followed it up with a motrin cocktail. I felt better when I woke up this morning and pretty much forgot about the whole thing until I took a shower a few hours later. I happened to look down at that area while I was shaving and spotted the road rash on both legs. Without going into further detail, let's just say I won't be getting into a swimsuit any time soon. Lesson learned.