|"Diet? Heavens no! I just have a high metabolism."|
|"Wouldn't you be a tad more comfortable in a muumuu, dear?"|
"Hey! This isn't so bad," I gasped as my bladder protested from its new locale in the small of my back. I decided if I could just walk around and do my lamaze breathing, I could make it through an entire evening in one of these. Of course, there'd be no eating or drinking as my intestines were now squeezed up into my bra, and conversation would be a challenge due limited oxygen to the brain. But, what did it matter as long as I looked fabulous?
Anxious to see the transformation, I donned a pair of skinny jeans and a clingy top. As the circulation was being cut off to my legs, I decided flats were the better option to heels.I staggered to my full-length mirror and took a peek!
What the......????!!!! Other than the blue tone to my lips and the way my eyes were bulging from organ constriction, I looked almost no different. Granted, the belly flab was no longer flopping around my mid section as it was now folded, origami-like, in front of my heart. But, for the most part, I still looked like a middle aged woman carrying a little too much booty in her trunk. What was the point to all that pain and suffering? I expected this:
Instead I got this:
An hour later, I had worked my way out of the contraption and poured myself a glass of wine (I was dehydrated from all that tugging and squeezing.) I realized that if I truly want to change the shape of my body, I'm going to have to put the time and effort into diet and exercise. Or some plastic surgery. Or a time machine. On the other hand, I could just be happy that this body is still in fine working order, no matter how good or bad it looks in or out of clothes. Maybe instead of Spanx, I'll give thanks. Hey, I'll drink to that!