Chub Rub

I was just watching a commercial about a new product from the good people at Monistat, purveyors of fine yeast infection treatments. It’s called “Soothing Care” and it is for “chafing” suffered by “women with curves.”

Because the manufacturer was Monistat I was confused for a moment, wondering what “chafing” could mean and how they were going to illustrate it for a family audience. I mean, I’m 33. Surely I would have experienced some kind of “feminine chafing” by now? Right? No? Have I missed out on something about which all other women share a sisterhood? I don’t want to be out of the sisterhood! Is it because I lack curves? How do I get curves so I can share in the drama of chafing with my sisters?! How?! How could I possibly have missed having the all-important and ubiquitous scourge of feminine chafing?! Oy vey ismir!

Confusion followed by Lightbulb as I realized what they were talking about. It’s not specifically for women even though they are selling it to that audience. It is, quite simply, what we called back in the day when I was a fat kid: “Chub Rub.” The redness and pain resulting from my little chubba thighs rubbing together in hot weather. I suffered from Chub Rub every single summer till I finally lost my weight after deciding that I liked boys and wanted them to kiss me rather than see me as a buddy to meet with at the mall and play Space Invaders.

But until then, every summer my little chubby thighs were afflicted with what is now apparently delicately called, “chafing” and for which the treatment was copious amounts of Vaseline petroleum jelly, the effect of which was big greasy marks on my pants and a refusal to wear shorts in even the hottest weather because the crotch would ride up and my thighs would rub themselves raw. Argh. My thighs hurt just reminiscing about it...

I have therefore determined that the good people at Monistat are my heroes. The Florence Nightingales of Fat Kids Everywhere. I tell you, I could have used some Soothing Care back in the day, and now millions of little fat kids will not have to suffer the same discomfort I did throughout almost every year of Ronald Reagan’s two terms.

Thank you, Monistat: Purveyors of Products You Hope to God You Never Need.