Spanx and My Disappearing Clothing: A special request

I'm going to warn my readers now .... if you get embarrassed when some one mentions Spanx or underthings or other delicate subjects, you might want to turn away from this blog entry now. All of the above items will be discussed, and the blog will surely elicit the following response from my mother: "I really thought I raised her better than this."

And then when she turns to my father, she'll say: "This is all of your fault, you realize. I really did try to raise nice young ladies."

My coffee maker is set.

My outfit for tomorrow is laid out and ready to go, as are my "delicates" and a clean set of towels for tomorrow's shower.

My lunch is made. The kitchen is cleaned up. The cat has been fed. The laundry has been folded and put away.

So, I am able to finally sit down and wonder about the following question:
EVERYTHING has been, how do I put this delicately, riding up, well, ummm, there, all day long, and I've spent the better part of my day attempting to gently yank everything back into place. And I'm just thinking ... wondering really .... Is my rear end getting so big that it's actually eating my clothes? Perhaps it's getting so large, it's a being of its own making.

It's a question for some serious chewing considering when I pulled my Spanx out of the washing machine tonight, I discovered they had begun to unravel.

Perhaps, my rear end has reached proportions such that my clothes have called a meeting in the laundry hamper. They've voted, and they are ready to stage a coup ...

"We can no longer exist under such extreme conditions! We must be given a break from our day in and day out strain of fabric, or mark our words, WE WILL FRAY!"

And then a white sock will begin waving limply in a defeated but valiant manner, as the laundry whimpers in collective sing-song chorus, "We can no longer overcome ...."

These are the things that clog my brain matter while the rest of the world is looking for ways to solve world peace.


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