50 shades of chafe.

50 shades of chafe.

She arrived home from parkrun.
Sticky & smelly.
It had been a hot & humid morning. That light sprinkle of rain had done nothing, other than dampen her clothing.

She managed to dodge her toddler who was glued to the television, and her husband didn’t look up from his phone as she made her way to the bathroom.

She closed the door.
Well, she attempted to close the door, the fucking wet bath mat got caught underneath the door, she swore as she attempted to release the mat.
Nope.
That fucker wasn’t budging.
“Fuck it” said as she dropped the husbands towel on the ground to use as a bath mat instead.

Post parkrun wee, then she attempted to take off her tights.
They got tangled with her postpartum undies around her ankles.
She had to stand on one left, to try and extricate herself from their grasp.

She took off her singlet.
“Pwooowh” she sighed as the smell.
“Gross” she thought as she caught a glimpse of her hairy armpit.

Her arms got caught trying to release the pressure.
The strain.
The bra.

Finally it release.
She reefed it off.
Her breasts made a plopping noise as they slapped back down into her belly.

She kicked her husbands towel out so it was somewhat flat.
So it wouldn’t get caught in the shower door.

She turned the shower on and jump in.
“Ahhhhhh” she screamed as the water hit her back.
It was fucking freezing.
2 erect nipples freezing.
She huddled in the corner, fiddling with the taps.
“Ahhhh” she screamed, it was fucking boiling.
Fiddle, fiddle, fiddle (not that kind of fiddle you dirty bastard 😉) with the taps and the temperature was perfect.

She turned to face the water.
It splashed over her oily face.
Tiny sprinkles clung to her frizzy fringe.

Water tricked down her saggy chest.
Delicately making its way into every nook and cranny.

“Ahhhhhhhh, fuck me, owewwweeee, ahhhhhhhhh” she screamed.
A violent scream.
A painful scream.

What was wrong?
Where was the pain coming from?
She lifted her deflated breastfeeding boobs, she tried to look underneath.
But her double chin got in the way.
Craning her neck.
Origaming her lumps & rolls, to see what was wrong.

Was there a wasp in the shower with her?

No.
Worse.
She had underboob chafe.
Purple.
Patchy.
Chafe.

The sting began to settle.
The crept back into the shower.
Hiding in the corner wasn’t going to wash her.

This time she had her back facing the pounding water.
Thank goodness for that chafe callus on her back. No battle scars there today.

The water trickled down her back.
It was warm.
It was wonderful......
Until it did a U-Turn up under her arse.

“Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh”
Just below her sweet spot.
Chafe.
Fucking bunching post child birth undies.
Yes, they are 2 sizes too big, but they are so fucking comfortable.
Chafe was everywhere downstairs.
Think newborn baby with toxic nappy rash.

She clung to the side of the shower.
Trying to hold herself up.
The pain was unbearable.
Adding soap to the mixture?
No fucking way.

She turned off the shower.
Opened the door.
She carefully dried herself, whilst standing on her husband towel.
Patting & dabbing at the chafe.
Careful not to remove anymore skin.

She waddled like a duck past the television watching toddler & Clash of the Clanning husband, up the hallway to the toddlers bedroom.

And there it was.
The tube of Bepanthen.
Perfect for nappy rash on toddlers, and chafe on The Plus Size parkrunner.

She scurried back past her audience.
They still didn’t realise she was even home.

She lay her towel on the bed.
Waddled to the bathroom to get a compact mirror.
Took the lid off that tube of liquid gold.
Lay on her back & started applying.
Think newborn baby.
Think roast chicken.
Probably more roast turkey.
Big old roast turkey, too big for the oven turkey.

Using the mirror to find every nook & cranny.
She got cream everywhere.
Physically everywhere.

She eventually gave up using the compact mirror to see the chafe.
That mirror was nowhere near big enough.
She just lay there, squirting that shit left, right & center.

She eventually looked up.
Only to find her husband standing at the door.
Mouth agape & and a toddler saying “yuck”.

True story.
And it was never discussed again.


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