Everybody Needs a Bosom for a Pillow

Today I was walking to my car from the office at the great historic home, wearing a skirt and sandals, looking intensely at the copper fittings on the building across the road that had bled a green patina down the limestone, when I pondered:

Is one supposed to walk with one's bare thighs mushed together in a semi-stationary postition, attempt to allow them to rub past the other only to cause chafing, or change one's gait to an odd crab walk in order to maneuver around the fat of the thighs?

Comments and suggestions are welcome.