I had prepared for it like any intelligent woman would.
I went on a starvation diet the day before, knowing that all
the extra weight would just melt off in 24-hours, leaving me
with my sleek, trim, high-school-girl body.
The last many years of careful cellulite collection would just be gone
with a snap of a finger. I knew if I didn't eat a morsel on Friday, that I
could probably fit into my senior formal on Saturday.
Trotting up to the attic, I pulled the gown out of the garment bag,
carried it lovingly downstairs, ran my hand over the fabric, and hung it on the
I stripped naked, looked in the mirror, sighed, and thought, "Well,
okay, maybe if I shift it all to the back..." bodies never have pockets where
you need them. Bravely, I took the gown off the hanger, unzipped the
shimmering dress and stepped gingerly into it. I struggled, twisted, turned, and
pulled and I got the formal all the way up to my knees... before the zipper gave
out.. I was disappointed. I wanted to wear that dress with those silver
platform sandals again and dance the night away.
Okay, one setback was not going to spoil my mood for this affair.
No way! Rolling the dress into a ball and tossing it into the corner,
I turned to Plan B: the black velvet dress.
I gathered up all the goodies that I had purchased at the drug store:
the scented shower gel; the body building and highlighting shampoo and
conditioner, and the split-end killer and shine enhancer. Soon my hair
would look like that girl's in the Pantene ads.
Then the makeup -- the under eye "ain't no lines here" firming cream,
the all-day face-lifting gravity-fighting moisturizer with wrinkle
filler spackle; the all day "kiss me till my lips bleed, and see if this gloss
will come off" lipstick, the bronzing face powder for that special
But first, the roll-on facial hair remover. I could feel the wrinkles
shuddering in fear.
OK - time to get ready.... I jumped into the steaming shower, soaped,
lathered, rinsed, shaved, tweezed, buffed, scrubbed, and scoured my
body to a tingling pink. I plastered my freshly scrubbed
face with the anti-wrinkle, gravity fighting, "your face will look like
a "baby's butt" face cream. I set my hair on the hot rollers. I felt
Ready to take on the world. Or in this instance, my underwear.
With the towel firmly wrapped around my glistening body, I pulled out
the black lace, tummy-tucking, cellulite-pushing, ham hock-rounding girdle,
and the matching "lifting those bosoms like they're filled with helium"
bra. I greased my body with the scented body lotion and began the plunge. I
pulled, stretched, tugged, hiked, folded, tucked, twisted, shimmied,
hopped, pushed, wiggled, snapped, shook, caterpillar crawled,
and kicked. Sweat poured off my forehead but I was done.
And it didn't look bad. So I rested. A well deserved rest, too.
The girdle was on my body. Bounce a quarter off my behind?
It was tighter than a trampoline. Can you say, "Rubber baby buggy
bumper butt?" Okay, so I had to take baby steps, and walk sideways,
and I couldn't move from my butt cheeks to my knees.
But, I was firm!
Oh no... I had to go to the bathroom. And there wasn't a snap crotch.
From now on, undies gotta have a snap crotch. I was ready to rip it
open and re-stitch the crotch with Velcro, but the pain factor from
past experiments was still fresh in my mind. I quickly side stepped
to the bathroom. An hour later, I had answered nature's call and
repeated the struggle into the girdle. I was ready for the bra
and remembered what the sales lady said to do. I could see her
glossed lips mouthing,
" Your breasts will be high, firm and you will have cleavage!"
I was happy until I tried to look down. I had a chin-rest and I
couldn't see my feet. I still had to put on my pantyhose, and
shoes. Oh... why did I buy heels with buckles?
Then I had to pee again. I put on my sweats, fixed myself a drink,
ordered pizza, and skipped the reunion.
IF THIS DID NOT GIVE YOU A GOOD LAUGH-