It is uncomfortable, but not life-threatening. I am going into town tomorrow, for the market, so I will be able to pop into the chemist to ask for something for ‘Athlete’s Foot’, which is more dignified than telling them that I want something that I can put round my knackers.
I have no wish to discuss an infection around my knackers in a public place. Although I am grown-up about these matters, it is the sort of thing that you keep to yourself.
I think my new pants are to blame. They are tight, red and trendy; the sort of pants in which you would like to be run over. There might not be enough air circulation in them. I did not keep the instructions.
The LTLP has left me for the evening. Every now and again one of the ladies in the Village holds some form of party. All the women go, and only they are invited. I suspect they might be a front for something.
Tonight it is an ‘Aromatherapy Products’ party, at the disused Fish Shop. She returns later on in the evening, bearing a satisfied expression.
“I’ve ordered you something,” she slurs. “For your knackers.”
I look at her, appalled.
“You did what?”
“Well all the others were ordering oils for relaxation, muscle ache and all that. But the lady said that this one would be really good for fungal infections.”
[ad#Google Adsense banner]