Why, Oh Why, Do My Thighs Touch?

Ahhhh, August. Warm beach waves. Ice cream that melts down your hand before you can even get a lick in. Steamy vacation flings. Backyard BBQs where the only thing more endless than the grilled feast is the beer. Baseball. Sunshine forever! Nothing can ruin these glory days of summer — insert record scratch here. Actually make that the sound of two thighs trying to un-peel. Ouch!

As a lady with a big badonkadonk, I need big legs that can support it. And that also means that in this hot hot heat, inner leg chaffing is a fact of life. Some gals are supermodels. Some gals are plain lucky in the leg department. And some gals like me are just born meaty with two thighs, side by side, no grace space for walking. After a mile in muggy weather, I’m dealing with red scrapes on the inside of my legs. Why, oh why, must my thighs touch?! In winter I can wear tights, even pants if I’m desperate. But in summer’s open, breezy bottoms, they can’t stop touching each other all the time. Sheesh, if only I could get a man to stick to me like old lefty and righty leg!These thighs are indomitable, unwavering. No amount of clamshells, leg lifts, stair-mastering, thigh-mastering— oh yeah, I went there and Suzanne Somersized my stems — nothing will make them retreat. Nothing!

There’s one thing a girl in my position can do: wear shorts under a skirt. No, not the cute ones with athletic lettering on the butt that says sexy stuff like “Bootylicious.” They’re not long enough. I’ve been “rocking” biker shorts, and by “rocking,” I mean a bossa-nova kinda embarrassing lite rock. I don’t even own a bike to go with all this spandex. Plus, this isn’t “Hammer Time.” Now you know my secret spandex shame!

And let’s just say that when a guy goes to surprise me with a reach up my skirt, he is the one who’s shocked. In his eyes, I can see his brain melting as he tries to imagine what the hell kinda messy granny panties I’ve got on underneath, and is it really worth the risk to keep trying to find out? Sigh. I promise you, men who have discovered these biker shorts on me, chafe marks are even scarier. I even just grossed myself out.

I know this is going to sound crazy, but I long for the good ol’ days of the skort. Shorts + skirt rolled into one hip look; those years were magical. Although I stockpiled my fave Levi’s pair, I have officially burned holes in the thigh on even the ones I horded and wore long after they were cool. And I still can’t bring myself to go back to capris since I saw those photos. Immortalized on the interwebs were some sad stumpy-looking summers for a shorty like me. I swear I learned my lesson; I will never wear crop pants ever again!

Once September rolls in, I know I can rest easy in my beloved pantyhose and tights. My problem will be solved for another nine months. But in the meantime, I’ll just have to sweat it out in these bike shorts and pray that before next summer, a genie comes to grant me three wishes. Because let me tell you, if the genie is only granting one wish, I’m gonna skip world peace and get him to separate my thighs for good!