You think you’ve got troubles? Ha! I guaran-damn-tee that mine are far, far worse than yours. Seriously. Between you and me, I’m surprised that somebody hasn’t started a foundation to raise awareness for my affliction. C’mon folks, this is candlelight vigil, ribbon wearing, Barry Manilow writing a special song just for it, makeshift memorial consisting of piles of flowers and teddy bears getting soaked in the rain pathetic.
Just what is paining me so? A particularly aggressive recurrence of Fatonmythigh disease and it is spreading. My butt, stomach, even my arms are afflicted. It wouldn’t be so bad, but my fall clothes are too tight and now that the weather is turning cooler, I don’t have any choice than to pull my head out of the feed bag and face the truth.
The straw that broke the camel’s back occurred a couple of weeks ago. I couldn’t fit into the dress I wanted to wear to emcee this year’s Furry Fort Thomas Dog Show. It is an XL Tommy Hilfiger shirtwaist dress with a tiny Basset Hound print that I ordered especially for the event. The moment I slipped it over my head, I knew there was trouble when I couldn’t pull it down over my bosoms. I took it off and checked the tag. Maybe they sent me the wrong size. Nope, it clearly said extra large.
Ever resourceful (and still in denial), I rummaged through my lingerie drawer and pulled out my black and red spandex and lace Queen Latifah brand “All-in-One.” Surely, that would smooth me out in all the right spots. Wrong. Running out of time (Tom and Nosey were in the car beeping the horn, ready to leave the house), I concluded that desperate times called for desperate measures, so I quickly undressed and started from scratch. It was time to pull out my secret weapon, the one that never failed: L’eggs Sheer Energy control top pantyhose in size B. I sat on the bed and smoothed them up my legs then, realized that they weren’t going to stretch all the way to my waist. I pulled this way and that, tugging and yanking until I poked a hole in the behind with one of my fingernails. It snapped back over my all-too ample flesh and a small, pink blob of my skin poked through the hole like the Hen and Chicks planter on our front porch.
That was going to have to do, I surmised, going into triage mode. If I wore my extra-firm “Shaper” panties over the pantyhose, that would keep them from rolling down. So, I added those. While rummaging around for them, I’d come across a one piece, long-legged Spanx “Body Smoother,” that my Mother had given me awhile back. It was a wild idea, but, I wondered if this might not just be the thing to smooth the lumps coming from the top and bottom of the panties. Shimmying into the one piece was kind of difficult and I was getting a little sweaty, so I dusted my bare skin with a little Lady Anti-Monkey Butt powder.
Checking myself in the mirror, I noticed that my upper back was protruding a bit. Who knew you could have cleavage on your back? What to do? Well, the black and red lace Queen Latifah “All-in-One” that I’d started with had a band on the back that was supposed to take care of that, so I put that on, too.
Guess what? The dress was still too tight and I had no choice than to wear a stretchy sweater dress from the fat end of my closet. There was no time to take off all those layers of underwear and they were so tight that I could hardly bend my torso enough to sit down in the car for the ride to the library.
But this wasn’t the end of my predicament. When the dog show was over and I went into the library to use the ladies room, I found out what real trouble was. Of that, I will only say, thank God I had a pair of nail clippers in my handbag.
After that episode, I realized that I didn’t have many options. I was going to have to decide: Invest in a new wardrobe, find a seamstress to stitch the outfits I already owned together, start running around naked or go on a diet.
Guess which one I chose?
P.S. I started today. Wish me luck.
