Spanx? No thanx!

Sorry ladies, I know that it is forbidden to divulge that which should remain forever cocooned in the mysterious and secret realms of women’s lingerie, but I feel compelled to share with you, for your own good, my recent experience with a ‘slip of a thing’ from the Spanx range of targeted control wear.

I’d tried the rest, so try the best, I thought, as I happily paid three times over the odds for this miraculous garment that would provide me with a sexy and sylph-like silhouette and enable me to squeeze into the six dresses hanging in my wardrobe that are the teeniest bit too tight.  Thereby eliminating the need to buy new.

Bargain!

Not only that, as this is turning out to be a year of ‘dos’, I’ll get bags of wear out of the thing, and look fab to boot.

Perfect.

So, the day of this year’s first do dawned and I was all set.   New slinky dress, first time out, waited patiently on the wardrobe door.  It had one drawback – the length – to the knees – meaning that, given the time of year and the ghastly white legs, stockings were required.   Not tights – can’t afford a ridge around the waist, and not sussies either – no room for any lumps other than mine in this dress!  No, it had to be the ‘hold up all by themselves’ ones.  Because they do don’t they?  Hold up all by themselves?  Ever had one sliding down your leg when you’re out?  Ever had to adopt a Quasimodo gait as you race to the sanctuary of the loo to pull the bloody thing up?  ‘Course not! 

But anyway, this was a minor risk, as I had the protection of the non-cling, non-roll, non-climb, ‘I make you look superb,’ Spanx garment which was draped seductively over the bed, preparing to make me look and feel fantastic!

Well, not without the odd expletive, I eventually got it on.  With much grunting, tugging, shoving and pulling, I somehow prized my now sweat-soaked body into this sleek and stretchy sock.  Phew! 

The dress went on as soon as the breath had returned to my ragged lungs, and as I turned to admire my new and improved silhouette I caught sight of a fluffy white lump of cotton wool inside my stocking.   Aaaarrgh! 

The performance was repeated, the cotton wool discarded, and a much-needed glass of wine placed in my trembling hand.

It’ll be okay, I told myself, after a few more of these….

Right, party time!

An hour into the evening and the wine hadn’t had quite the numbing effect that I had hoped for and I was getting a little irritated.    There were a number of reasons for this:

·          - The magical non-cling garment had developed an extremely ‘clingy’ relationship with the dress, sticking like glue to all the wrong bits.

 - In addition, its non-roll qualities were clearly overstated, as it does indeed roll when you make the mistake of sitting down.   As standing in killer heels for any length of time is now beyond me, the shoes had long since been abandoned.  This did little to contribute to my looking fabulous.   Might just as well have brought my slippers.

 - Leaning forward slightly to listen in interest to others was equally out of the question.  This simple movement caused something to stab me fiercely in the heart, threatening to bring on a heart attack at the very least.
 
 - The risk of the seams not surviving was too great for me to dare to tuck into the crisps and picky bits and so my hunger went unchecked.   
 
 - I was loathe to participate in much chit chat as I could scarcely breathe, and when I did speak I was sounded like I had swallowed a couple of helium balloons.

So, all in all… not going too well.

I endured this ridiculous self-imposed torture for a little while longer until common sense got the better of me and I dragged my sister into the bathroom to help me get the bloody thing off.

Not an easy task, even for two of us.  Indeed, Houdini would have been proud of some of the moves I made to escape from its clutches!

Free at last, I shoved the offending garment in my handbag.

Ah… I can breathe…

… and eat, and sit, and speak…

and enjoy the party!

There are lessons to be learned from this experience: 

·        -   If you have any influence in planning future dos, make sure it’s a ‘pyjama party’, so all the middle-aged women can breathe without pain and sip their wine in peace.
 
·      When you buy ‘control wear’, ensure that it is at least two sizes too big, even though that renders it useless.
 
·      Always carry a handbag that is big enough to hide your underwear when you are obliged to remove it. 

  - I suppose you could always lose weight, exercise or buy bigger dresses …
 

Or, if really pushed, find an excuse to not go to the party …

… but where’s the fun in that?