Yes, you heard me. Crack chafe. That delightful little outcome of the wayward sweat that trickles from the top of your head, down your back, into the perfectly formed funnel of your arse, where friction and moisture combine to create a burning, skin abrading, irritating little patch of hellfire. Crack Chafe. Cheek rub. Bum roasties.
And when you have an ample arse, like mine, the surface area available for crack chafe is abundant. Fabulous, isn’t it. Big arse, more chafe. Once again the loving universe cackles loudly and picks its nose.
And it’s not just the universe wot is cackling. Friends too. (The bastards.) Brandishing nappy creams and sundry nefarious opinions. Trying, particularly unsuccessfully to stifle graceless bloody giggles.
So, the next time you’re on the prom, and you see a lovely, booty endowed woman, walking like John Wayne with a cucumber up his bottom, nod and wave.