How I Learned to Stop Worrying
and Scrub My Crotch Fold
(c) 2025 written by jaron summers
Every few weeks, the internet announces a new way we can cheat death, and I, being a man of science and YouTube, dutifully click. The latest revelation came from a solemn “doctor” on a channel called Wise Elders, which sounds like a cult that meets behind a Whole Foods to compare herbal teas.
This particular doctor declared that to live a long and vigorous life, one must scrub the inguinal region — a term which, for those who didn’t go to medical school or junior high, means that crease where your legs meet your torso.
Yes. That fold. The diplomatic border between your abdomen and your thigh.
The Panama Canal of personal hygiene.
According to this guru, if you fail to wash this area with religious devotion, something catastrophic will occur. He never quite explained what, but the implication was clear: early demise, wheelchair, nursing home, or perhaps immediate vaporization.
I’m 83, so naturally I paid attention. At this age, I don’t ignore information that threatens to subtract years from my life. That’s the government’s job.
The doctor explained that “blockages” in this sacred crease can shorten your lifespan. Blockages! As if a tiny pile of lint from your boxer shorts could clog the circulatory superhighway and bring down the whole system like a traffic cone left on the freeway.
I checked my own inguinal crease at once, fearing a geological formation had developed. I found nothing alarming, unless you count the fact that I now need six mirrors to inspect my own groin. That discovery alone took three months off my life.
But I resolved to take no chances.
Kate, ever supportive, said, “You do realize the doctor might be trying to sell moisturizer?”
I told her she was being cynical. “This is science,” I said, while Googling “how long can you live with a blocked groin fold.”
Let me be clear: there is no known medical condition called Blocked Inguinal Death Syndrome. If there were, teenage boys — whose entire hygiene regimen consists of Axe body spray and optimism — would be dropping like flies.
Still, I followed the advice.
I washed.
I rubbed.
I exfoliated like a man preparing for a swimsuit calendar he will absolutely not be asked to appear in.
And you know what? I felt… cleaner. Not immortal — just cleaner.
I reported my findings to Kate.
She said, “So the doctor was wrong?”
“Not entirely,” I said. “My groin feels younger.”
“Your groin always feels younger,” she replied. “That’s the problem.”
In fairness, the video wasn’t all nonsense. Washing that fold does prevent things like irritation, odor, and fungal revolt — which, in marital diplomacy, is sometimes as important as immortality.
But the idea that a bit of soap stands between me and a premature end is optimistic even for YouTube.
If longevity were truly based on crease maintenance, there would be dermatologists running the world and every political debate would begin with candidates proudly displaying their spotless groin folds.
Instead, here we are: living our best lives, scrubbing our creases, and hoping the internet will one day tell us the truth:
That aging isn’t defeated by soap.
It’s defeated by laughing, loving, swimming, writing, walking, eating something green now and then, and, when necessary, carefully maintaining the border between thigh and torso.
So yes — wash your inguinal crease.
Not because it will save your life.
But because Kate will appreciate it. And honestly, at 83, that’s the only guarantee that truly extends longevity.
