Skirt season has FINALLY descended upon us. And as temperatures -- and hemlines -- rise, you'll have to contain your disgust at my chunk at it goes ga-dunk-a-dunk'n down the street, because CHECK IT: I'm saying "no thanx" to SPANX. And here's why.
First off, I have to let you know that I am not a skinny person. Nor do I, in common-law estimation, quite qualify as fat. I'm somewhere in the middle, with some body parts that are passable for public examination and others that could stand some serious improvement. Among those parts is my ample Armenian behind. Yep: I'm one of those "pear-shaped" chicks with decent arms, an OK tummy, skinny shins ... and a big ol' ass.
Now, don't get me wrong: It's not like I always feel like wearing this ass with pride. Sh*t, most days, I don't even embrace it. Like a gerbil on a wheel, I sweat away many a morning at the gym to keep it in check -- yet it continues to mock me and my size-four intentions. That said, you'd think I'd be ready to get down on my knees and praise the inventor of SPANX for all the wonders they achieve for people like myself. In the least, I should make a point of buying her a very strong drink.
But here's the rub: SPANX are still GIRDLES. And I have an innate existential opposition to girdles. They were invented by men who hate women. Back then, they didn't come in cute colors or with lacy flair. They came in two colors: nude and nude. I happen to harbor painful childhood memories of watching my poor mom suck in her breath and deny her legs circulation as she shimmied into one of those medieval torture devices. And I vowed back there and then that I would never subject myself to that kind of discomfort just because I wanted to be more attractive to men.
Now, I'm sure it's not this way for the skinny SPANX endorsers -- the Gwyneth Paltrows of the planet. But for me, putting on SPANX is akin to trying to put toothpaste back into the tube. It requires a lot of hoisting and hopping up and down to look a half-size thinner, while experiencing some serious discomfort. Sit down in SPANX, and the waistband instantly rolls over, creating an inner tube of belly chub that's discernable to the outside world, should you be wearing a garment close to your skin. And what about how they choke your thighs so hard that the flesh on your things ooze outward? Neither comprise looking good or having fun.
Hey, I'm just grateful that the era of anorexic waifs has passed, and that my sisters, the Kardashians, have put us fat-bottomed girls on the map. This way, I don't have to keep my business to myself. So unless I'm in a rare situation where my vanity outweighs my good sense, I'm saying "no thanx" to SPANX. Who's with me?