Ok, so I jiggle like Santa. The point is I really didn’t want everyone to know that, so I did what any other self-respecting (Ok, vain!) woman who wants to wear a skin hugging dress does…I checked out Spanx…and I’m going to share my humiliating story with you because we all need a good laugh now and then. Even if it is at our own expense!
The first problem is getting it on. It is much like trying to stuff the contents of two cans of play dough into one can…it just aint gonna’ happen! Well, at least not without an overflow…I mean it’s gotta’ go somewhere.
I pull the one piece elastic thingy (which I swear is about the size of an infant onesie!) over my head and there she is, rolled up in a bunch around my chest. I can hardly breathe. I want to scream for someone to deliver an oxygen tank to the dressing room. Meantime, with all the huffing and puffing going on in my stall, I can only imagine what anyone else in the dressing area is thinking. Just so you know, this is before the cussing and crying starts.
Finally I manage to pull it down to my bellybutton and my boobs shoot through the top. And those who know me, know that’s almost an impossible feat! I pull those puppies back down and they mash flat with everything else the spandex has swallowed. Now every inch of fat is heading south in gigantic proportions. I am turning blue by now and sweating. I reached down to snap the crotch and what snaps is my back, right beneath my shoulder blade. So, now not only can I not breath or move, but I am in severe pain.
I give up without trying the dress on over this thing they call a miracle. It’s a miracle all right, an absolute miracle I haven’t died due to lack of oxygen. However, I’m standing in the dressing room stuck in an elastic contraption that I don’t know how in the hell I’m going to get out of. I figure I can put aside embarrassment and call Dirt Man who is only three minutes away at home and direct him to the dressing room in Kohls to help me. Or I can yell for someone, anyone, to bring me a pair of scissors, a knife, or anything sharp to cut the damn thing off of me. Or the last resort, which I choose because you know I’m proud like that, I clench my teeth (with tears flowing down my cheeks) and wiggle and squirm (and cuss) for what seems like eons until I finally get it to roll back up high enough to grasp that sucker and pull it to my shoulders. I finally pop it off one side and take a deep breath, (and I give thanks to God, yes I do!) and then I peel it off the other side of my body. It sure doesn’t look quite the same as before I put it on…it’s a bit stretchier (misshapen) and about twice the size it was!
Next I throw that sucker on the floor and stomp it for good measure. Boy, does that ever feel good. I smugly pick it up, smooth it off, and gently place it on the hanger. I even put the hanger back on the display rack, way in the back since it’s no longer in pristine form!
I decide I will NEVER purchase an elastic body-clamping-contraption…nobody needs a hug that badly! Of course, I do not buy the dress either. In fact, I decide to embrace the extra bits of me…on my way home I treat myself to frozen yogurt, and I enjoy every single drop!
Next time, I get the bright idea of trying to squish my jiggles into some body forming apparatus, I’ll opt for a plain old roll of duct tape!