Why do weddings, funerals and graduations make us spastic with how we will appear to others? As these events approach complicated with age, weight, and of course the bumps and bulges the drastic search for the perfect solution lead us to all kinds of extremes. Why do we worry about such silly things? Picture if you will this precarious situation.
My niece's wedding was quickly approaching, although I had tried dieting, the seduction of good food out weighed my need to loose weight. I was suppose to wear a very form fitted dress to her wedding. First, I knew I definitely needed a better bra to move the sagging boulders closer to my shoulders. Next, I thought I'd get one of those one piece grown up "onesies" in illusions of grandeur to smooth out bumps and bulges and to hide all the excess.
I found the bra fairly easy, thanks to this very helpful Sears sales lady. I asked her about the miracle undies. Kindly she suggested this heavy duty girded thing with I swear had a zillion small hooks with little bitty eyes. Almost half way down all the connections I discovered I had skipped one somewhere. At that point I turned around and looked in the mirror. Let me tell you it wasn't pretty. All this girding and turding made me exhausted! (Yes, it literally squeezed the poo right out of me.) There was no way I could wear this thing.
Next, I tried on a similar gag and restraining garment with a zipper. Well, I got that one 3/4 of the way zipped up before catching a little back fat and of course yelling out in pain. This summoned the sales girl who quickly unpinched my purple flab. With tears in my eyes I said, "By chance, is there anything else we haven't tried?"
She tried to keep from laughing, "Honestly, nothing I would suggest, Mam." She walked away, back out into her department.
I snuck out of the dressing room, the sales lady was helping someone else. So I looked by myself. Standing out in the crowd-there it was, the perfect solution. No fasteners, no zippers, just a one piece solution to cure every imperfection! I grabbed it and scurried to the fitting room.
The clothes came flying off. I giggled and wiggled until I had that thing on. Some how I ended up with one arm inside and one arm outside, don't ask me how-I don't know myself! Suddenly, I broke out into the worst hot flash I've ever had. And all that spandex was hugging my innards so tight I began to pass gas. Normally, this would create a stink, but I wear an ostomy bag. The bag began to blow up like a huge balloon. "Oh my gosh, the bag is going to blow!" Fear of desecrating that fitting room flooded my mind. Frantically, I tried wiggling back out of that one piece mess, but nothing seemed to work.
Somehow, in all that I caught a glimpse in the mirror of both my front and my back. Imagine an over stuffed sausage, with way too much coming out the top and the bottom. The middle was this pooch that was getting bigger with each toot and poot. At this point there was no alternative, I had to get help fast! When an ostomy bag bursts under pressure, it simply is a disaster.The smell alone can clear a room faster than mustard gas.
I shimmed to the door way. "Hello-Is anyone out there?" No answer.
"Could someone please call 911; I'm stuck in spandex and I can't get out!" Someone giggled, but they didn't help. "Hello" no answer.
There was no choice, no help, so I prayed hard, "God, please help me out of this mess. I promise I will never put this body in spandex again." I took a breath and started wiggling again. Finally, my arm on the inside was free.
As soon as I could I put my clothes back on and left all the spandex behind. I rushed to the nearest ladies rest room to release all the contents of my strangled innards. If anyone ever ask, "Couldn't you just by one of those one piece body trimmers?" You'll simply see me smile with this simple but honest reply, "No way Baby, I do not love anyone that much!"
