SPANX FOR THE MEMORIES

Show of hands - how many of you have ever been squeezed to death by a boa constrictor? No one? Well, neither have I, but I think I know how it feels because I recently purchased my first pair of Spanx! For those who do not know, this is the brand name of spandex shape wear that work by sucking your entire mid section into a garment the diameter of a grapefruit. Some of you might wonder why I have resorted to purchasing a pair since I am the author of this little blog post. But, let's face it, some days, a gal just wants to get back to her pre-baby body. Particularly when that baby  is now 23 years old. So, I decided there would be no harm in owning a pair of Spanx for the occasional times when I'd prefer to look like this:

"Diet? Heavens no! I just have a high metabolism."

The first step in the Spanx experience is to select a size. Conveniently, the product provides labels that correlate your dress size with a shaper. According to this label, I was to purchase a size L which would create the illusion that I am 10 pounds lighter! Well, this did not work for me because A) I am competitive, and B) I always assume others are wrong. So, I decided if a size L would make me look 10 pounds slimmer, a size M would double that. Also, if I actually wore the dress size that matched a size M, I would not need Spanx, therefore, it had to be a typographical error. The insect-sized matron at the lingerie counter did not agree. She gave me a once over. "Is this for you?" YES. "Have you ever worn these before?" YES. (I lied because I was not going to have a woman who "forgets to each lunch" tell me I need to go up a size. No sir!)

"Wouldn't you be a tad more comfortable in a muumuu, dear?"

Back at home, I could not wait to put on my  Spanx and behold the miracle of my new physique! But, first, I had to get them over my ankles. Lying on the floor, I huffed and puffed, grabbed a pair of pliers for leverage, and finally got them to just above my thigh. When I was finally able to stand and realized I was going to have to use the jaws of life to retract myself from the things, I decided to go for broke and pull them up all the way. I sucked in my gut and finally, just before I lost consciousness, SNAP! The garment fell into place just below my rib cage.

"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!