Furthermore | The F Word

One Tight Spanx

The LBD is a travesty.

It is designed to clothe a woman who is little. I’m not. I was. That is the past.

The LBD in my case, forms a tight fitting sheath for my left thigh. Think crepe bandage and you’ve pretty much got the idea.

Of course, getting into that LBD became my raison d’etre for the foreseeable future

Spoiler Alert: From this point on, this little piece of prose is a Greek Tragedy

I tried the Spanx [such a friendly name for a medieval instrument of torture methinks].

I spent 22 minutes behind the flimsy curtain in the changing room [I suspect they don’t build doors in these Spankvilles because of the high mortality rate behind those doors from embarrassment about the inability of being able to get out of one, once one has managed to pour yourself into it in the first place].

I didn’t have that problem [that’s mainly because I’m a problem solver by nature and chose to not even try to get out of it] I merely minced out with my legs joined from hip to ankle [I was killing the Ariel look] since the Spanx prevented even the suggestion of me having 2 limbs. I was torso on trunk, so to speak. I met the sympathetic look of the salesgirl who wanted to know if the Spanx fit.

I blushed prettily [the blush came from the fact that my entire blood supply was north of the Spanx – for those of you who grew up with Tintin, I was exhibiting  Bianca Castafoiresque proportions] and breathlessly rasped out that I loved it so much, I didn’t even bother to take it off. She nodded sagely as she swiped my card and I slithered [I’d clearly moved from The Litte Mermaid look and was now doing Ana-the-conda] from the scene of my defeat.

If it weren’t for the fact that the blood was ringing in my ears, I cant quite be sure, but I suspect there was some serious guffawing and desk banging accompanying my egress.

Make that two tight spanx!

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