10.04.2006
This is not what I'm supposed to be writing.
There's this really funny story that starts out: two women and a baby are getting ready for a fancy schmancy wedding and realize that it's been so long since they went anywhere fancy schmancy (since the party where they announced the pregnancy of the one at 9 days past ovulation, in fact (they hadn't planned a party for that particular, they just happened to be going to that party when they found out)) that all their fancy schmancy clothes (not many, to be sure) are all just a smidge too tight...
Kristin gave me permission to tell this story. She gave permission as we were driving home, laughing so hard it hurt. And she told me last night that every day she has pulled up my blog expecting to see the story and every day she's disappointed.
But, see, I'm not sure I can tell it right. I'm not sure it's not one of those stories that you had to be there for. Like this one:
Once upon a time some friends and I were driving to the Oregon coast. And we were wanting to catch the sunset on the ocean, and we were SO disappointed that we hadn't been able to drive fast enough. It was getting pretty dark, dark dark in fact. When suddenly the driver (me) said, "Look, look! We haven't missed it! There's the sun right there through the trees!" (we were ALMOST to the beach at that point) And I hit the gas pedal and we all started cheering that the sun hadn't set yet (even though it was really dark everywhere BUT where the sun was... can you see where this is going?) and then the sun started getting a bit bigger... and it seemed kinda low to the ground... and then we pulled into a clearing and realized... it was a streetlight. Oh how we laughed and laughed at how for those few moments we were convinced that a streetlight was the sun. And then we went to the beach and played in the water in the moonlight. The End.
See? That's not very funny, is it? Because it's a had to be there kind of thing. Now you're all looking at me like I'm not very bright. Trista, how could you possibly mistake a street light for the sun? And how could you, once you realized your mistake, laugh at what was obviously a very troubling symptom of your decreasing physical and mental acuity? I don't know. You just had to be there.
So, I worry that when I tell you that instead of throwing on comfier, but less schmancy, outfits for the wedding, Kristin and I both decided to put on girdles, you'll miss the humor in the situation. I worry that pity will be your primary response when I say that I was wearing TWO elastic things around my waist because one just didn't seem to be able to subdue a particularly stubbon roll of fat around my middle and the black shirt I was determined to wear is very sleek. I'm afraid that you won't think it's funny that Kristin had bought a girdle sized "small" because she thought that the smaller a girdle she bought the smaller it would make her.
And if I tell you that during the course of the wedding Kristin's girdle folded down from the top, creating a back roll that I was specifically supposed to warn her about, but that I was too much in pain from my own girdle riding up under my breasts, simultaneously exposing the tummy roll I'd been trying to hide AND creating deep bruises on my sensitive mammary tissue from the boning to notice, will you laugh? Even if I want you to? Don't you think it's funny? Cause it was. The crumbling of our vanity. How silly we looked. How we walked in there creaking but skinny, and walked out lumpy, limping, and laughing at how ridiculous we looked and how much pain we were in. How when I helped Kristin put on that girdle, I fastened it in the back, not thinking of how she was going to take the thing off... and so when we got in the car for the drive down the canyon, and she groaned (in between gales of laughter) and tried to take the damned thing off, she couldn't reach any of the hooks and she had to practically take all her clothes off and twist this way and that way to get it off, with me laughing at her the whole time. How the number one thing we learned that night was that it's better to be lumpy and comfortable than be skinny and in pain.
And that we need to go back to the gym.
And that the next time we get invited to something fancy schmancy, we should try on our prospective outfits a few days before the event.
And that if you're going to buy a girdle, by God, buy the right size!
Eh, I guess you had to be there.
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I think you did an admirable job in the retelling. I found myself laughing, anyway, so I think you were successful. I love the philosophy of buying something smaller to make you appear smaller. If only it really worked that way!
That was hysterical to read, especially on a "home sick" day.
Uh, I'm slighty concerned though..you both OWN girdles? More than one, in fact? I didn't think lesbians did such things. Learn something new every day.
Oh no, I'm there with you.
And the visuals, OH THE VISUALS! I can picture it OH SO clearly, because, um, I've been there, and done that.
Narda has instructed me to buy clothes that fit, and when I lose the weight, to buy clothes that fit...
I have one from, like, 10 years ago. And then this sort of ace bandagy thing that I used, too, out of desperation. Kristin bought hers after Julia was born and her tummy was different shaped than it had been and all squooshy. I'd just like to point out here that I thought her tummy was beautiful, but it's not about what I think.
And don't think of them as girdles, per se, just think of them as bras for the belly...
Oh, that makes it worse, doesn't it?
Hahahahha! Love it!
(AdProb Jen, since Blogger Beta doesn't distinguish among all us Jens)
bras for the belly?!? brilliant!
the only thing great about girdles is how maaaaaaaaaaahvelous one feels once they rip them off.
Oh. My. God.
Bras for the belly.
This was just hilarious -- including the sunset/streetlamp.