A friend was watching it and posed the question of chafing in the desert. To which I penned this wee poem. (Apologies to P1M for the butchery of the mither tongue...) When marching through the desert arid, Mind ye ken what ye hae weared. Cloth'd as sich wi' the tartan fair, Be ye assur'd yer bairns get air... --AnimalK 2010
Maybe a touch of Johnson's Baby Powder??
By Choice, not by Birth
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