A Little Crisco, a Lot of Spandex

I love evenings out and I hate evenings out.  I have a love/hate relationship with them.  I love the food, the music, the conversation, the dancing… the Cha-Cha slide.

I hate slathering myself in vegetable shortening just to squeeze my new fuller mommy figure into a dress that’s bursting at the seams.

I know.  I could buy a bigger dress.  But I sort of forgot and then it was too late to buy a new one.  I had a fundraiser banquet to go to this weekend.  Evening attire, many of our friends there, pictures that I would inevitably be tagged in on Facebook without a courtesy Photoshop slim-down.

My solution: Spanx.  Spanx sucks everything in and smooths everything out.  But I couldn’t find my Spanx and I was running out of time.  I tore apart my closet looking for them.  The maker of Spanx released a cheaper line of “body shapers” called Assets (har har).  I found them at Target awhile back and bought a pair.

My Spanx and cheap Spanx are basically super-strength spandex… they start at the stomach and go down to the mid-thigh.  I never wear a pencil skirt without them.

Note: This model does not need Spanx.

Real Spanx have a feature that cheap Spanx don’t.  With Real Spanx, the special feature is that… um.. you can use the ladies’ room without having to peel off the Spanx.  Cheap Spanx doesn’t have that feature.

And I drank way too much water last night.  So, it’d go like this… grab clutch purse and phone under the guise that I had to call the babysitter, run across the banquet hall, enter the ladies’ room, and grab one of the three stalls.

Then, unpeel the Spanx, go to the bathroom, and pull them back up.

Except, I bought these cheap Spanx for a thinner body.  So, I’ve got super strength spandex one size too small.  And I just pounded a four course meal like I was on death row.  My friend Lindsey followed me in the bathroom.

Lindsey:  What the heck are you doing?  This is your third time out here in the past thirty minutes.  Are you dealing drugs out of a banquet hall bathroom?  This is a fundraiser, for crying out loud.

Me:  No, I just (turn sideways in front of mirror) drank too much and I keep having to go to the bathroom.

Lindsey:  You’re gone for twenty minutes each time.  Are you checking your email?  So rude.

Me:  No, it’s these (wiggle wiggle) darn fake-Spanx.  They take forever to pull off.

Lindsey:  Fake Spanx?

Me:  I think they’re (deep breath) crushing my diaphragm.  And (deep breath) cutting off the circulation to my thighs.

Lindsey:  Ummm… what?

Me:  Ugh.  I promise I’m fully clothed from neck to knees.  (lifts up dress)

Lindsey:  What the…

Me:  It’s just (stretches out Spanx, sucks in air) super, super tight.  And I drank too much water.

Two women walk in, I yank my skirt back down.

Woman #1:  Did you have the mahi mahi?  (enters stall)

Woman #2:  No, chicken.  (fixes makeup in mirror)

Woman #1:  I think the fish did something terrible to my stomach.

Me:  (whispers) We need to leave.

Lindsey:  (whispers) Hurry.

Woman #2:  Alright, I’m getting coffee.  I’ll see you out there.

Lindsey and I enter our stalls.  I yank, yank, yank at the fake-Spanx, willing them to drop down.  Lindsey flushed, washed her hands, and tapped on my stall door.

Woman #1:  (moan)

Lindsey leans up against my stall door:  (whispers)  Roo, hurry up.

Me:  I’m!!  (yank)  trying!!

Woman #1:  (moan)

Lindsey:  (whispers)  I’m leaving!

Me:  No, (whispers) I’ll be right out!

(sounds of Lindsey’s footsteps and the bathroom door closing.)

Because I am a lady, I will not even mention the sounds coming out of the stall next to me.  Just know that I had the bottom of my skirt tucked under my chin, I was starting to sweat, and my fake-Spanx were stuck around my thighs and would not move.

This woman is going to hotbox me in here, and I’m going to die on the floor with my skirt around my head and my Spanx around my thighs.

More noises.

Come on, Spanx! (yank)  You can do it. (pull)  Jesus, help me. (sucks in)  Get me out of here.

I started scratching my living will and testament into the stall door with my fingernail.  Right under messages about guys being someone named Kari’s baby daddy and an informational flyer about venereal diseases.

I could walk out like this.  Spanx handcuffing my knees together, walking like a drug addled mermaid.

(Bend, bend, pull.)  I repent for eating Samoas a box at a clip.  I’m sorry.  Gluttony – that’s wrong. (more moans from the stall next to me) Food poisoning – also wrong.

After much struggling and many fervent prayers, I walked out of that bathroom with sweat on my forehead and possibly a perforated pancreas.  I kissed the carpet, took a deep breath, and made three solemn vows.

1)  I will never buy fake-Spanx.
1b)  If the Mayans were right and the world ends in 2012 and fake-Spanx are the last body shapers on earth, I’ll wear them, but I won’t drink anything.
2)  I will buy bigger clothing.
3)  I will never order the mahi mahi.