I went shopping again this week. This is the second time in six months that I’ve had to subject myself to this bone-wearying, mind-numbing, over-rated activity. I have an event coming up in the next few weeks that requires an evening gown. I’m really excited about getting all gussied up in fancy clothes, but everyone insists that the black, stretch velvet dress I purchased for $25.00 at Value City, and have worn to every function for the past five years, absolutely will not work for this occasion.
So, my girlfriend, whose enthusiasm for shopping is equal to the frenzy you witness at the zoo during feeding time, hauled me to an upscale mall where I was completely out of my element.
She was a little stymied by my shopping style, but I’m not one for wasting time, dawdling over this and that, feeling the fabrics of clothes I have no intention of buying, and wandering through departments that are not at all related to the item I need to purchase.
She would make suggestions like, “Let’s see how much time we can waste in this lovely, little shop even though it is apparent they will not have what you are looking for.”
Of course I’m taking liberty with her words, but in essence that’s what she was saying. I would walk about three feet into the store, ask the sales clerk if they had floor length dresses, and if they said no, I would leave. I figure, what’s the point in looking around if you know they don’t have what you want? My girlfriend said the fun part of shopping is finding out for yourself if they have what you are looking for. My way sure saved us a boatload of time.
It took some major effort, but I did finally find a dress that I think will work. The only problem is, it is a bit clingy and shows every bump, lump and dimple on my body. The sales lady who was attending my dressing room, (you don’t get that at Wal-mart) must have sensed my distress over the unsightly bulges because she offered to fetch me a body shaper. That sounded really intriguing, and I anxiously awaited her return.
Turns out a “body shaper” is nothing but a plain old girdle. I’ve got a drawer full of cheap girdles, but this one was different. It had boning all the way up the front and the fabric could best be described as pliable. I locked the door, stripped down to my skivvies and went to work.
The tag read, “Lose 10 pounds in 10 seconds,” but anybody who actually needs a girdle could never get their fat tush into that thing in 10 seconds. If I lost 10 pounds it was from the strenuous workout I got while trying to fit my rolls of pudge into the “body shaper.”
I couldn’t quite get it over my hips and it made sense that jumping up and down would help. Everything on my body was bouncing, except the saggy parts; they were flapping like crazy. And I was blessed with a three way mirror on one wall, and a floor length mirror on the other, so I couldn’t get away from the sight of every ounce of fat on my body being gradually squished upwards.
Fortunately, my stamina didn’t give out. I attribute that to the fact that we purchased a trampoline this summer and I’ve built myself up to jumping three minutes, non-stop, before collapsing.
By the time I got the girdle nearly to my waist, my sweat glands were working overtime and I was vaguely aware that the grunting and groaning noises pouring from the back of my throat were probably being heard throughout the entire formal wear department. I paused to catch my breath, but the dressing room walls continued a residual shaking equal to 9.0 on the Richter scale. Suddenly, the sales clerk called out, “Don’t worry! There aren’t any security cameras in there!”
Several minutes later, I had successfully contorted my body into some semblance of an hourglass. It was actually more like a half-hour glass, but it was a definite improvement. At this point that I caught a glimpse of the price tag. If all that boning hadn’t been holding me up I probably would have fainted. But there was no way I could, in clear conscience, allow them to put the thing back on the rack after I had poured so much sweat into it.
I slipped the dress over my head and, voila! No more dimples, bumps and lumps! Yes, this was definitely a purchase worth making. My new formal dress should be suitable for every event I attend between now and when I become mother of the bride. Thankfully, my oldest daughter is only twelve, so it will be a few years before I have to shop again.
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