Burnt boobies

Standard

I finished my shower last night and then scampered off to get dressed. With an audience of puppies, I dug around for clean jarmies and with much skill and dexterity, got myself dressed.

It was just as I put deodorant on that it occurred to me that I really had quite a nasty rash under my boobs. You know. That rash that looks like you spend a lot of time working out, but really it’s just sweat and friction, which is really easy to achieve dancing in panda hats or air drumming in the car.

So, I turned to my trusty Ice Gel.

This is amazing stuff. Really amazing. It’s cheap, it goes really cold, fixes everything from headaches through to pimples. So why not a boob rash?

Even better, I have a ROLL ON version of the stuff.

So, with the puppies watching on like a cheering and approving crowd, I applied a generous amount of of gel to each under-boob.

It took a second or two, then it started to burn.

Burn. Like. A. Mo. Fo.

Nodding to myself, i explained to the puppies that I was experiencing a burning sensation.

Doing the opening steps of my Oh Shit dance, I went on to clarify that I would need to have a quick shower to wash it all off.

I took their cocked heads to be approval.

I danced, accompanied by my yelps, to the bathroom. My beloved was exiting the shower and looked at me, puzzled.

“There’s no time to explain. No time to discuss. But I must have a shower.”

I flung open the shower screen, turned on the taps, and bared my ample burning bosom to the water.

My beloved saw the rash, and the very impressive welts that were springing up, and was horrified. She pieced together the story as I explained what had happened with yelps and vague semblances of Swahili.

Apparently it was only me and the puppies who thought this was a good idea.

I think I’ll revert back to special cream.

The. End.

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