I was going through my regular blog reads tonight, and found an answer I'd been waiting for. It seems that some of us web-folken (specifically, women) are braver than others. I think the comment below expresses as close as I could my relief at seeing this online review, courtesy of Jo.*
Comment to the Post:: "I sit here... in the Northern summer clime of Vancouver, Canada... and I am simply awestruck... overwhelemed with a relief that is matched only by the time that I discovered that a very disturbing looking red/raw blemish on my nether regions turned only out to be a spider bite.
You see... I had absolutely no idea... none... that there were even ONE other person who develops an angry thigh-rubbing rash... to hear that(gasp!) this is relatively common? Well... I'm simply flabergasted. I cannot describe the self-loathing I encountered every time I'd ever felt that itchy, soon to be painful skin rubbing sensation between what I perceive to be my ample thighs. 'Surely,' I thought... '...this serves as testament to my status as an overweight sloth.'
Ah... I feel such an indelible relief... that I swear I hear the birds chirping and the breeze rustling the pretty summer leaves outside the windows of this tall glass tower I sit in.
Thank you. Thank you, all."
*The Leery Polyp rocks, and I'm ashamed to admit that once I sent Jo a scary email that didn't say anywhere in it how much wine I had drunk that night; it had all the scary, too-friendly aspects of a harmless drunkard at the bar, but without the explanation that I was FUCKING WASTED to go with it and make it less creepy. It's one of those little things I have a feeling I'll always feel slightly guilty about. And yet, I'm too embarassed to actually check my sent messages to figure out how embarassing I really was. How pathetic am I? VERY. PATHETIC.