Not Just for Acupuncture

Pretty sure what the little round band aids that come in those variety packs from CVS are for!


I recognized the awesome capacity for nipple irritation to ruin my day early on in life at the beach. Those old (well, they weren't old at that time, they were cutting edge and all we had) canvas coated inflatable rafts mixed with salt water, cold, slightly caustic salt water, made for some scabby nipples after about four days at the beach with the folks. A cringe or two every time you took a dip until finally you gave up riding the waves on your corrugated air bag for some good old fashioned body surfing was the way to go.


I never thought about them much after that having learned to pace myself on a raft for the years after that. Until the raft and the venue changed that is. A few years later, I had to squeak into a wet wet suit on a crisp fall morning (I wanted to write mourning, because, if you know me, you know I can handle being cold, and I can handle being wet, just not both at the same time) just before risking life and limb going down the Gauley River. Did I mention the water in the river itself is released from impoundment through a giant gateway, from the bottom of a lake, where it's coldest?


The wet suit was a must. To not have it would have made the miserable trip lethal. Hypothermia (and butt-loads of yellow jackets too by the way) kills dozens of nervous paddlers every Gauley Season I'm sure, but the real victims here were, you guessed it, my nipples. The first day, packed into the already wet and uncomfortable suit, and then made to paddle furiously like a slave on a Roman galley, I wore the poor useless appendages damn near off. The second day, I groaned, hated life, and pulled the suit on not having any choice, nor any little round band aids. If I ever go white water rafting on the Gauley again (I won't) I'll be sure and pack a few of those useless-for-anything-else little bandages.


Lately, due to the weather being colder than I remember (I got a short memory I suppose) my nipples, once again, register a climate that is a far cry from the warmer globe everyone seems worried about. To stay warm, I've been wearing layer upon ridiculous layer and have been beating the cold, though messing up my hair in the process, but that's not really the problem with my nipples.


As a result of all the vestments, my tool belt will not stay put on my hips and constantly slides down to wrap itself around my thighs in an uncomfortable and awkward arrangement. The quickest and easiest fix is to attach good old fashion suspenders to my tool belt thus transferring the weight from my hips to my shoulders. This truss arrangement however, obviously cuts a path over my shoulder, right down over the twins and therein lies the rub. Nine hours trussed up (yeah, thirty minutes or so for lunch out of wraps) makes me painfully aware I have nipples usually being unaware of them.


For some reason though, I have resisted getting what I know would be a quick and easy fix (besides quitting work). I don't know if the shame of having Hello Kitty on my nipples is stopping me, or the sure fire knowledge that if I did sport the pink kitty, sure as the world,  I'd end up in the ER getting my clothes cut off by an eager, then startled staff. Even a regular straight laced normal band aid would fell better than nothing, yet I still resist.


It must be the redneck pride that keeps me from saving the nips from their daily brushing. I mean, who wants to be the only guy on the jobsite with sensitive nipples? It's isn't as if there are manly products, manly prophylactic stickers in the shapes of skulls and crossbones or some other macho icon just for suspender wear.


So I'll suffer alone, if not silently, and go on about my day. Remembering that it could be worse (and more scabbier) and that I'm probably not alone in my troubles. I imagine too, that somehow, suspender-nipple pain might have had something to do with Robin William's early problems with drugs.


-rbm