TMI PSA

WARNING: The following blog entry contains material of a sensitive nature. If you are uncomfortable reading about grown-up hoo-ha's and po-po's, please do not read this post. If you are my father, you are forbidden to read this post. Your mind's eye will go blind and I will die of embarassment.

For the rest of you who are still with me, this is a Public Service Announcement for the ladies. I shall relay it to you via my own personal experience.

We had run out of toilet paper. This is not a common occurence, as I put it on every shopping list. In my opinion, you can never have too much toilet paper. Toilet paper is a solid investment. It is always in demand. An abundant supply of toilet paper will never detract from the value of toilet paper. But there we were. There I was. Business done. No toilet paper in sight. I looked behind me to the top of the toilet tank, where I normally keep a box of baby wipes. Even after your babies are grown a bit, wipes are a great thing to have. Gets "things" really clean. Empty. No baby wipes.

Next to the empty wipes box is an attractive tube of pre-moistened towelettes. Spring Waterfall scent. Doesn't that sound lovely? It says "Quick - Convenient." In my current predicament, it certainly was convenient. "Oh, boy, this will get me cleaner than I have ever been, and Spring Waterfall fresh, to boot!"

Ladies: Never, ever, ever, never, never, never, ever, never EVER clean your most delicate area with Lysol (Disinfects!) Sanitizing Wipes. You don't want to be that clean. There's a delicate balance that goes on down there that you don't want to be messing with. You don't notice it right away. In fact, you don't notice it for several hours. That first night, you're thinking, "Dang, that's a bit itchy back there. Did I not clean myself thoroughly enough??" Which, of course, can't be, because you are Sanitized and Disinfected! And Spring Waterfall fresh!

The next day all hell breaks loose. And you don't know if your nether regions are turning red because there's something seriously wrong down there, or because you have scratched that itch so much, because there is something SERIOUSLY WRONG DOWN THERE. You wonder what caused it. You've been in the pool a lot. Could it be the chlorine and various chemicals? Then you remember that some little snot-nose pooped in the pool a week or so ago. That little shit (literally) infected me, you think.

You try every ointment, cream, lotion, and salve in your house. You send your husband out for products no self-respecting man should ever have to purchase. You try to move as little as possible, and when you are up and about, you hope your children don't see you and pick up on your newfound scratching habit.

I'd like to say I realized the source of my discomfort before I leapt to the wild conclusion that my awesome #1 husband in the world had brought this burning beast home. I'd like to, but by then the itch had clearly made its way to the rational thought area of my brain. Fortunately, we were able to laugh at the outlandishness of that possibility immediately.

So... three - four days later, lesson learned. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. But for those of you who would, it would certainly be easy enough to.... oh dear God no! Think of the children! Like the one that pooped in the pool....