Friday, August 06, 2010
A different story about a class reunion.
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 forty years of careful cellulite collection would just be gone with a snap of a finger.
I gathered up all the goodies that I had purchased: the scented shower gel; the body building and highlighting shampoo and conditioner; the split-end killer and shine enhancer. Soon my hair would look like the shampoo 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 glow.
But first, the roll-on facial hair removal. I could feel the wrinkles shuddering in fear.
Okay, 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 posterior" face cream. I set my hair on hot rollers.
I felt wonderful. 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 buns?" Okay, so I had to take baby steps, and walk sideways, and I couldn't move from my buns 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. I remembered what the saleslady said to do. I could see her glossed lips mouthing, "Do not fasten the bra in the front, and twist it around. Put the bra on the way it should be worn-----straps over the shoulders. Then bend over and gently place both breasts inside the cups.
Easy if you have four hands. But, with confidence, I put my arms into the holsters, bent over and pulled the bra down.....but the boobs weren't cooperating. I'd no sooner tuck one in a cup, and while placing the other, the first would slip out. I needed a strategy. I bounced up and down a few times, tried to dribble them in with short bunny hops, but that didn't work. So, while bent over, I began rocking gently back and forth on my heel and toes and I set 'em to swinging. Finally, on the fourth swing, pause, and lift, I captured the gliding glands. Quickly fastening the back of the bra, I stood up for examination. Back straight, slightly arched, I turned and faced the mirror, turning front, and then sideways. I smiled, yes, Houston, we have lift up!
My breasts were high, firm and there was 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 panty hose and shoes. Oh....why did I buy heels with buckles?
Then I had to pee again.
So I put on my sweats, fixed myself a drink, ordered pizza, and skipped the high school reunion.