What in the sam hill is wrong with me? Have I become so vain that my comfort means nothing?
A few weeks ago, in preparation for my 40th high school reunion, my brain temporarily went on vacation and I purchased some torture devices called Spanx–guaranteed to gather some of my cellulite and make it look better–to whom? Who was I so eager to impress? My fourth grade boyfriend? Anyhow, when the day of the reunion actually came, sanity returned and I realized it was 90 degrees and no way was I wearing a high-waisted girdle. I opted for comfort.
So what happened this morning? Whatever possessed me to wear them to work? The design includes ‘tummy shaping” panels that extend to just under my bra (sorry to talk about my underwear, by the way. I know it’s tasteless, but there you have it.) What it created was a sore back as well as a constrictive band right in a sensitive part of my gut. Beauty is definitely not worth it. At about 2 pm I realized I was the master of my fate and the captain of my soul–and that I could take them off. Which I did post haste (well, first, I closed my office door!)
Obviously and blessedly this is not me.