It’s almost here–my 20th reunion from Cary High School. Festivities begin tonight.
And I’m about as ready as I’m ever gonna be.
I won’t go into the details of my preparations–that would be akin to sharing my weight, and we all know that’s not gonna happen.
Spanx are womens’ undergarments that mercilessly squeeze and torture your body to make you look thinner and shapelier with fewer bulges, rolls and all the other things that come with aging and childbirth. Most women I know claim Spanx are the best invention for women since birth control.
I have to call bullcrap on that right away. Spanx make me feel like those refrigerated biscuits in a can. You know, the kind where you have to jab a spoon into the cardboard seam. You can practically hear those biscuits screaming as they ooze through the opening.
Why would I want to do that to myself? Oh, I’ve tried Spanx. I was so damn irritable we had to leave our event early. When I got home and peeled everything off, the stitching of the undergarment was practically enmeshed in my skin. It was downright creepy.
I’m willing to sacrifice for beauty, but only to a point. I mean, I’m not going to sacrifice comfort, okay?
I guess that’s when you know you’re really getting older. Or maybe “smarter” is the word I’m looking for.
It doesn’t matter if you’re 38 or 78, but one day you realize it: Comfort trumps all.
Besides, there’s nothing wrong with a little squish in a woman. Don’t torture the biscuits.