I have a big event coming up--one that requires a pressed gown and proper undergarments. It was recommended to me that I invest in a “shaper” to smooth things out.
I have two statements about “Shapers”:
1. They are for skinny people who need to hide a cheeseburger when it becomes visible to the outside world while on its way down their small intestine…like a python digesting a rat.
2. Shapers on fat people are actually “Shape SHIFTERS” that manipulate and decide all by themselves on a new shape which may be worse than the shape you started with.
Statement 2, of course, applies to me. I can pack a cheeseburger where you’ll never see it again.
I may have been dreaming when I tried on the stretchy garment, meant for an 11 ½ inch glamour doll, that all my years of being unkind to my figure would magically disappear, Cinderella-like, just for one night.
My Fairy Godmother must be off “bippity-booing” somewhere else.
Scarlett O’Hara’s Mammie and the suction power of a hundred Dysons couldn’t force me into the shape I imagined. Ten thousand Chinese Olympic opening ceremony acrobats, all linked together shouting “Pull!” (in Chinese, of course) would, at best, would move things north making me into a double-scoop ice cream cone.
Once I had the girdle-like fabric in place, what happened was the extra flesh, under the pressure of the elastic/spandex/woven-titanium was pushed together, forcing electrons to enter the wrong orbits. Heat rose from the waistband like subway steam.
A new shape was created… rock solid, immobile, Manatee-like. John Travolta made a better looking woman than the one in my dressing room mirror. I tried the dress on over the shape-shifter’s decision for my body type, but I couldn’t get it past the gigantic”Boob-waist-hip” obstacle.
“I want my old body back,” I wailed inside my head. I pity the person who might have been electronically monitoring me. She’s blind now.
I heard a jubilant person in the next room say how great her dress fit now.