I'm itching, and I'm too polite to scratch

If I wore a diaper, I'd have diaper rash. Were I a jock, I'd call it jock itch. But I don't wear a diaper and despite my equestrian adventures, I don't think I am a jock. That means I get to name my disease: wheelchair leprosy.

I know it is not unique to wheelchair users to find heat, itchy skin, tight quarters and sweat uncomfortable. Legend has it that one of my brothers-in-law walked into his home, shouted "I hate underwear" and started clawing off his clothing.

But for fellas in wheelchairs, pulling off clothes is not so easy. Neither is putting on powder. You can't stand but are trying to shake powder on to a part parallel to the ground. And you're sitting in a wheelchair all day. talk about tight quarters.

And I don't mean to exclude the gals, but from what I hear they are missing two appendages that add to the discomfort.

I am thinking about not using my seatbelt for a while because it may make things hotter and more squeezed.

Then of course I could fall. But if I wound up in a hospital with broken body parts, I would wear a loose-fitting gown, not clothes.

Everyone who is depressed totally needs little kids around. It is awful hard to be sad when people are feeding you Goldfish crackers and chanting your name. Even if they are 2-year-old nephew and 4-year-old niece.