Something dangerous is going on in the world of women’s underwear, and I want to nip it in the butt.
Sorry.
I am referring, of course, to Spanx.
If you don’t know what Spanx are, I have one word for you:
Girdles.
I got introduced to Spanx by accident, when I bought a black-patterned pair, thinking they were tights. I got my size, which is B.
For Beautiful.
I took them home and put them on, which was like slipping into a tourniquet. Then I realized they weren’t tights, they were just Tight, and I checked the box, which read Tight-End Tights.
Huh?
I actually managed to squeeze myself into them, then I put on a knit dress, examined myself in the mirror, and hated what I saw. From the front, I looked like a Tootsie Roll with legs. From the back, instead of having buttocks, I had buttock.
In other words, my lower body had been transformed into a cylinder. I no longer had hips where hips are supposed to be, or saddlebags where God intended. I was the cardboard in the roll of toilet paper.
And another detail. I couldn’t breathe.
Also the elastic waistband was giving me a do-it-yourself hysterectomy.
I didn’t understand the product, so I went instantly to the website, which explained that these were no ordinary tights but were “slimming apparel.” This, under the bright pink banner that read, “It’s what’s on the inside that counts!”
Really?
The website claimed that “these innovative undergarments eliminate VBL (visible bra lines) and VPL (visible panty lines).”
Well.
Would this be a good time to say that I’m in favor of VBL and VPL? Especially VPL. In fact, I want my P as V as possible.
You know why?
Because I wear P.
I don’t know what kind of signal we’re sending if we want our butts to suggest otherwise. Bottom line, I’m not the kind of girl who goes without P. In other words, I’m a Good Girl (GG). And GGs wear P.
Same goes for B.
I admit, I get a little lazy, especially at home or in the emergency room, as you will learn later. I don’t always bother with B all the time. But if I’m in public and not wearing a down coat, I wear B. And I also want my B to be V.
You know why?
I want extra credit.
If I went to the trouble to put on a B, I want to be recognized for it. Here’s an analogy; I’m not the kind of person who makes charitable donations anonymously. If I give away money, I want a plaque or maybe a stadium named after me, so everybody knows that I’m nice, in addition to being good. (N and G). In fact, that makes me a N and GG.
But back to P and B.
I went back to the mirror and noticed something else-that the fat that properly belonged on my hips, having taken up residence there at age 40, was now homeless and being relocated upward by my tights, leaving a roll at my waist which could pass for a flotation device.
But have no fear. I checked the website, and Spanx has the solution: “slimming camis.” That is, camisoles that look like Ace bandages, which presumably pick up the fat roll at the waist and squeeze it upward, so that, having nowhere else to go, it pops out on top, as breasts.
Ta-da!
Or rather, ta-tas!
This is interesting, for physics. Natural law says that matter cannot be created or destroyed, but that was pre-Spanx. With these babies, you could destroy the matter at your waistline and increase it at your bustline, merely by turning your body into a half-squeezed tube of toothpaste.
And of course, you’ll need a new bra to catch all your homeless fat, so the website sells “the Bra-llelujah!” It even states, “So, say goodbye to BBS (Bad Bra Syndrome)!”
Thank God. I hate it when my B is B.
I looked at the other articles of slimming apparel, and there were even tights for pregnant women, which was great. I wouldn’t want my baby to be born with VIL (Visible Infant Lines).
And there were Power Panties, which made me smile.
If women had power, we wouldn’t need Spanx.