I guess I really was in a good mood on Saturday while I was shopping with my mother. I must have been, because this particular question didn’t elicit the response in me that it might have at any other time.
Let me set the stage. I was in a lovely fitting room in a lovely department store. I was wearing a dress with a fantastic cut made from a gorgeous fabric. It was a dress designed to show off curves, and it did.
The problem is that I have curves in the wrong places. They talk about “apple” and “pear” shaped figures, but I’m more of a honeydew. I carry a lot of weight around my waist, and I’m about as big front to back as I am side to side.
So there I was in this really pretty dress, deciding how I felt about it, when mom comes up with, “do you wear Spanx?”
I laughed and told her that Spanx wasn’t going to make any difference for me. She went on to tell me how wonderful they were. Like I said, I must have been in a good mood, because not a word of sarcasm crossed my lips.
I could have told her that wearing Spanx for me, if they even came in my size (which I sincerely doubt), would be like placing a band-aid over stab wound. It would be like bailing out a ship with a teaspoon. It would be like building the great pyramids with lego bricks. It would be like harnessing up mice to pull a chariot. It would be like writing a novel using rubber stamps for each letter. It would be like digging a canal with a toothpick. Need I go on?
As always, I’m sure she meant well, but Spanx? Really? Oh well, I guess hope springs eternal.