There are lots of things you can do to show someone you love them. You can spend oodles of money on jewelry and flowers on that one special day per year. You can hold their hand while they’re getting the flu shot, even if they’re almost 40 and are way past the age of needing to be consoled for a little pinch. You can cook a meal that doesn’t involve the use of a microwave.
You can also wear Spanx.
My baby brother is getting married next Saturday, and the dress code is cocktail attire. My heart dropped when I read that on the invitation. I can do casual or business casual — khakis and a nice blouse work, right? — but cocktail attire? FML.
I don’t do dresses. Prior to trying on dresses for my brother’s wedding, I’ve only worn dresses for a couple of occasions over the past 11 years: my wedding and a cruise. My husband has tried to coax me into buying dresses a few times, but I resist. Aside from not being very comfortable in a dress, wearing a dress means I have to take the time to attempt doing my hair and makeup. I suck at both and usually look like a clown caught in a rainstorm. With hurricane force winds. My bum attire of jeans, t-shirts, and flannel or thermal shirts, depending on the weather, suits me much better — those clothes set the makeup/hair bar pretty damn low.
But my baby brother only gets married once, so cocktail attire it is. I spent a few hours shopping and trying on dresses yesterday and found a couple that were tolerable. One of them was vetoed by my husband, because apparently a sleek dark denim dress isn’t cocktail attire, no matter how cute it is or how much I plan to dress it up with jewelry. The other, a black dress with polka dots, was approved.
Between being overweight and pregnant a bunch of times, things aren’t exactly smooth in the stomach region, so I picked up a pair of those Spanx undergarment things. I’ve never bought those before, so when I held it up against myself I was kind of skeptical, as it looked rather small. The tag claimed it was my size, so I bought it anyway.
When I got home, it was time to model the new dress (plus the old cruise dress).
Before I put the dresses on, I needed to put on the Spanx. Again, I had doubts while looking at it.
How the hell are my thighs gonna fit in this? And my butt? And my gut?
There was no way. Squeezing all my bits into that thing would be tougher than closing the lid on a Chinese takeout box — impossible. I reminded myself that it was supposed to be my size and stepped in and started pulling it up. Slightly above my knee, things got dicey. The Spanx no longer wanted to be pulled up. I sucked my breath in — because apparently this helps with getting things over one’s thighs — and pulled. And pulled. And pulled.
I got the thing up over my thighs and then my hips. The belly was the easy part. One more tug and it was on — success! The feeling I got after stuffing myself in there wasn’t unlike the feeling I had after delivering Little Man.
After putting on the dresses on as ungracefully as possible — they did look pretty good, I’ll admit — it was time to remove the Spanx. I thought taking it off would be easier, but no. Let’s just say that if a woman taking off Spanx was viewed as a newsworthy subject, my efforts in removing it would garner as much awe as firefighters when they use the jaws of life to extract someone from a burning car. My husband watched the train wreck with much amusement, because 11 years of marriage means you don’t have to fake concern anymore.
It’s a good thing my brother is having an open bar at his reception to make all this Spanx hassle worth it. You’re probably thinking, “But if you drink all the drinks, you’re gonna have to pee and remove the Spanx!” No worries, though — much to my amusement, the crotch opens. (And now it’s time to Google whether you’re supposed to wear panties with this or open the crotch and pull your panties to the side to pee.)
On another note, it’s okay to count wearing Spanx as a wedding gift to my brother, right?
Thanks to HonestK for suggesting I use this as a doodle!