My tongue swirls the remnants of frozen cherries and thick Greek yogurt in my mouth. My slight brain freeze thaws as the wild parrots squawk in the trees outside our front yard. The office chair occasionally creeks under Daniel's shifting. He's preparing for a gigantic job interview tomorrow....Druck die Daumen (that's German for "cross your fingers"). I finished my own 4th interview for my teaching position next year....you know, that position that had already been offered. But the consultant said "colors were flying high" and although that sounds like a mixed metaphor, I relished the comment and drove off to the mall.
Retail therapy (and it's ugly step-sister, "return therapy") have been my playmates of late. A little less of the "quesadilla-cheese-sugary-sweets" and more of the "tiny boutique-Banana-Gap-Macy's." I flirt, I swipe, I sign, I wince, I return, I blush, I leave. Repeat cycle. This is my merry tune. And the melody has yielded a bounty of garments, although few with tags removed. Today, it's a smashing black dress. Yesterday, it was magic-fat-sucking pants.
Let's talk about these magic pants for a moment. You know those amber-hued photographs of a bride's foot up on a boudoir chair, her fingers gracefully smoothing a stalking up her thigh, pinning them to jeweled clamps, a boned bustier cupping delicate mounds of flesh, her graceful visage glowing with sensuality and confidence. That wasn't me.
I entered the Nordstrom fitting room alone. My mother was encouraged to look around outside....this was going to be a solo-adventure. I eyed the daunting mountain of bra's - strapless, wireless, padded, halter, bustier, and clear strapped. I eyed the "suckers" - Spanx, shapers, full-body, mid-section, mid-thigh, firm-support, medium-support. I was in spandex hell. But you can't wear regular skivvies on the "big day." It requires a miraculous garment (or two) that constrict, push, stretch, reduce, minimize, enhance, and flatter-- but only with shimmering cloth draping the outside.
Let's just say that I did NOT look like the byatch in this picture. I was sweating, flushed, and struggling to pull on the tightest undergarments in my life. I jumped madly and banged my limbs against the fitting room door -- much to the dismay of my attendant.
"Are you okay in there?" the nervous voice asked.
"No, lady, I feel like I'm stuffing a turkey into a condom" I mean..."Yes, I'm fine"
...bang, trip, tags fly off, tiny hangers fall to the floor.
So, to the few of you out there who will actually see me that day....and Courtney & Claire - you'll actually witness the magic underneath the beaded white shimmer...know that I can breath (just lightly) and that I can sit (just slowly). I am wearing magic pants or "flattering body shapers." And I both hate and truly envy anyone who wouldn't have to wear them.
But in the end...I left with a bag of magic and a wedding ring. You'll have to wait to see it...but it's divine.
