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January 23, 2017

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THE NIGHT I NEEDED HELP.

May 11, 2018

 

 

Yesterday’s junk mail delivered a catalog on body shaping.

 

I was fascinated. Page after page on how you could alter various parts of your anatomy.

 

There were –

 

  • Boob lifters.

  • Booty lifter.

  • Tummy smoothers.

  • Waist enhancers. (Hah!)

 

It got better. In one go you could –

 

“Compress your lower tunny, thighs and hips. But huge cut outs around your rear would prevent butt flattening.”

 

I paged over and nearly fell off my chair.

 

Not content to torture the fairer sex, items were listed for our gallant male counter parts.

 

  • Body shapers.

  • Compressions tanks.

  • Something that crisscrosses at center back for posture correction and support.

 

I put the catalog aside. And started thinking. As always.

 

My teens, as I’ve said before, brought the step-in. (Girdle to you Americans.)

 

A rite of passage, whether required or not.

 

My twenties brought the years of dining and dancing. Full length slinky strapless dresses with little or no underwear.

 

This was, after all, the “I’ve burnt my bra” era.

 

Yup, like Grizabella I was young and beautiful once.

 

Now in my dotage, foundation garments and full length slinky dresses are something of a distant past.

 

Then came a function where I was required to dress up. I was damned if I was going to buy a dress for one night.

 

In my closet hung two formal type dresses of my daughter that I’d kept.

 

But she was a zero to two and I’m a solid eight.

 

One dress, however, was an A line princess style thingy.

 

I got it over my head, but problems started below boob level.

 

I sucked it in and that nearly, oh so nearly did it but not quite. I needed another inch or more.

 

Also, I didn’t think I could go through an evening, which included eating, holding my breath and keeping up the tummy tuck.

 

I went shopping.

 

And found something to “enhance” my wait and hips.

 

Bought it.

 

Wore it.

 

And spent a long, horrible, uncomfortable night.

 

I couldn’t wait to take it off.

 

Washed it.

 

Delegated it to the “to be donated” pile.

 

Swore that I would never ever again wear something tight and uncomfortable.

 

Where’s my lesson in all this talk about foundation garments?

 

If you need help, get it.

 

Don’t be too proud.

 

Maybe you’ll only need it for a night. A talk to a friend might do the trick.

 

Maybe you’re going through a rough patch and depression has set it.

 

Don’t be a martyr. Go see your doctor and get help.

 

Maybe you’re battling a drinking problem, a drug problem.

 

GET HELP!

 

Cyber hugs and Blessings All. Let’s be grateful for “foundation garments” when we need them!

 

Photo by Olenka Kotyk on Unsplash

 

 

 

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