So Confused Husband and I are going to a thingy. I have nothing to wear. I mean, I obviously have clothes but; I literally have NOTHING to wear. (Women will understand this.)
I am post-menopausal, sweaty, and bloated. My body has morphed into a muffin. I wear copious amounts of Spanx to try and camouflage the muffin situation. I equate it to my dirty little secret. There are those women who wear sexy lingerie underneath their clothes, I unfortunately, am not one of them, that ship has sailed. If I were say; to get hit by a bus, and they had to cut me out of my clothes, they would most likely have to use the jaws of life to free me from my Spanx.
There would probably be an entire team and mission like when they rescued that soccer team from the cave to free me from my Spanx. It would be a massive undertaking and not for the faint-hearted. Calls to specialists from all over the world. Those who deal with hostage-type situations. (Yes, I am hostage to my Spanx.) Search and rescue crews would be alerted to figure out the best way to liberate me from my Spanx.
I decide to bite the bullet and go try on dresses at a local boutique. Entering the boutique, right in front of me are twenty-year-olds. Their entire bodies are the size of one of my legs. They remind me of lollipops as they are so skinny, making their heads look larger upon their stick-like bodies. I already feel like an Orca swimming in a goldfish bowl with a bunch of little goldfish. This just adds to my level of stress.
I am supposed to meet a friend here. Let’s just say that punctuality is not her strong point. I hide in the dressing room, texting her that I am about to have my mail and cable allocated to my new abode, dressing room number three. Yes, I have been waiting for her that long. I also don’t have the proper undergarments for trying on these dresses. The struggle is real.
I stare at my alien-like body in the mirror. I cannot decide if I look like a sausage or an old armoire about to burst its doors open to spill out its contents.
I step out with dress number one because I don’t have the bandwidth to shimmy out of it. Standing there is NOT my friend(who is about to be demoted to a ”former” friend.) But one of the lollypop gals. She smiles and effervescently says:” Wow! That dress has your name all over it!” (Maybe not my name I think, but indeed my sweat.) I am stuck in this frock and I feel hot and claustrophobic. I attempt to smile like I so agree with her. Instead, I vigorously nod my head like an idiot.
Paint Oscar Mayer across the dress and put me in a commercial. I stand there unsure of what Miss bubbly expects me to do. Perhaps a little twirl? FINALLY, Miss Late-as usual arrives. She looks me up and down. I explain in my defense that: “I don’t have the proper amount of Spanx on.” I back up(truck reverse noise) into the dressing room. I squirm out of this dress and squeeze into another. I step out and am on the cusp of “FORMER”, friend is nowhere to be found!
I parkour through the shop, hoping none of the lollypop gang sees me. I call out in a loud -whisper to friendship which, is now on tenterhooks. Not only is she time blind, but apparently; deaf as well. I find her after breathlessly bobbing and weaving through racks of clothing.
I ask her opinion, and again, she is not overly enthusiastic about my choice. (Note to self: “Next time, ask a friend to the shop who actually will tell you if you are sausage bound or not.)
I wind up purchasing both of them because I decide that I can swaddle myself in Spanx at home and then decide.
Arriving home, I attempt Mission -Impossible. I actually hear the Mission Impossible theme music playing in my head, I even hum along as I attempt to mummify myself in Spanx. It’s an exhausting endeavor but, I complete it. Then I try on each of the two dresses that I brought home. Standing in front of the full-length mirror, unable to breathe, or feel any of my circulations which have been cut off from my many layers of Spanx.
I have instant buyer’s remorse. I look RIDICULOUS! I Cirque du Soleil myself out of the dresses and untangle myself from the Spanx bondage. Breathlessly I collapse on the bed. I feel the tears spilling, and flashes of my muffin body haunt me.
The next day, I sheepishly head back to the boutique praying none of the lollypop gang from the other day is there. Of course, the SAME exact crew is standing there to greet me! They look even skinnier than the day before if that is possible.
I apologize profusely as I awkwardly return the two dresses. There are clucks of disappointment from the lollypop gang. I am questioned like I am at passport control as to why I am in their country. I expect to be water-boarded any moment.
I attempt to break up with the lollypop gang. I give them the old: “It’s not you, it’s me scenario.” I can sense they aren’t buying it. The leader of the gang (whose name is Amber) says: “Are you sure you won’t reconsider?” (Now I am in a bad timeshare scenario.)
I escape sans dresses a good half an hour later. I slink out of the boutique tail between my legs. The shame washes over me. I can feel their judgmental eyes penetrating my back.
It is the day of the event. Staring into my closet of nothing. I am back to square one. Skulking downstairs, I sigh dramatically. I share with Confused Husband my dilemma. He as usual gets that glazed look in his eyes. I inform him that he has to head back to the boutique and rebuy the dresses for me. He asks if I have been smoking crack. I share that I am incapable of going back to rebuy the dresses because of the lollypop gang. He looks perplexed and asks why would a gang be hanging out in an old lady’s dress shop. I retort: “For your information, it is NOT an old lady dress shop! They work there! “
He asks: “Why is a gang working in a dress shop?” I have no energy to engage in such a stew of nonsense! I realize that I need to make this as simple as possible for him. I choose one dress.
I give him his instructions: “Select the green dress(ugh! he is colorblind!) I call the boutique and disguise my voice saying: “Could you put aside that green dress I gulp size 12 and my husband will be in to pick it up shortly.” I am trying to asses which lollypop gang member it is. Do they recognize my voice? Will I be ridiculed after I hang up?
Confused Husband is watching me with a constipated look on his face. He bellows: “Why are you talking like that?” I shush him.
The lollypop gang member sweetly(or is she mocking me?) tells me she will put it aside.
I instruct him: “Do not tell them it’s for the same person that bought them and then returned them! Pay cash!” He mutters that: “I have been watching too many cop shows, that this isn’t some nefarious drug deal.”
He begrudgingly heads out. I text him to beware of the lollypop gang they are pretty sneaky. DO NOT under any circumstances let them know the dress is for me!”
Of course, he doesn’t respond. I wait on pins and needles. It seems like hours later and he returns. He hands me the bag and says: “There was no gang there, just some nice young lady named Amber who says to tell you good choice on choosing the green one that was her favorite on you.” …
Out Of My Head! 