February 17, 2002 Today, I walked a full hour to make up the time and I got one of the neighbor's daughters to watch the kids so Mike and I could have an hour to ourselves without any kidlets. We'd spent an hour looking at model homes at this place locally earlier in the afternoon and some of them were pretty neat and so as we walked we were kind of in that mindset, so we were looking over houses that were for sale and grabbing handouts and kind of talking about what we liked and didn't. About 20 minutes before our hour was up, I noticed that wearing a dress wasn't such a great idea, especially without pantyhose or tights, but rather with my ankel socks instead. I said something about my discomfort to my husband and he and I compared notes on the joys of chafing. He explained the intricacies of baggy shorts that bunch up inappropriately and the resulting reddened chafe marks. I whined about my poor blistering thighs. And then somewhere in there, he said he'd heard it referred to as "kissing thighs" on some TV show with the topic of "Plastic Surgery for Teens" where some marginally chubby chiclet was whining about how Mommy and Daddy should buy her new thighs. I looked at my husband and said,"Honey, these thighs ain't kissing, they're fucking each other's brains out!" My husband said,"So are you saying they're making the beast with two thighs?" To which I smirked and rolled my eyes. I'm looking forward to next year, when my thighs will be "Just Friends."
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