My Nuclear Knickers and Other Aging Secrets
There have been the most amazing, society altering advances in technology over the last ten years. I can’t imagine life without the Internet, or a Blackberry. How did I research papers as a student? Become my own advocate in legal or medical situations? Buy books, shop, communicate with distant family members? I simply can’t remember life before broadband. Despite all these modern marvels, I would have to say that the technology that has best improved the quality of my life is high tech fabrics. A glorious cocktail of Micro fiber, Lycra, Spandex, Elastine, and my body is instantly transformed. Now that’s the kind of tech I’m talkin’ about.
I love my shapewear. Given the choice between breathing and a smooth butt, I’ll take a smooth butt every time. This must not be surprising coming from a woman who jogs in four-inch heels. I admit that I subscribe to the “It’s better to look good than to feel good” Fernando Lamas school of philosophy.
Cinch the waist, tighten the tummy, raise the rear, there is a shape shifter designed for every job. Isn’t a panty girdle just a bra for your butt?
In a makeshift dressing room at an upscale sample sale, my girlfriend looked over at me and exclaimed. “Are you wearing a girdle?”
“It is not a girdle, it’s a power slip. And instead of worrying about what it’s called, you should be worrying about where to get one.”
I know of very few women over the age of thirty who wouldn’t benefit from some type of firm foundation. We all have some degree of body flaw here or there, why deny your self of such an easy fix? Cinch the waist, tighten the tummy, raise the rear, there is a shape shifter designed for every job. Women have worn bras for years, and isn’t a panty girdle just a bra for your butt?
There is nothing like the instant gratification of looking ten pounds lighter and twenty years smoother when you pull on a pair of Lycra infused bike shorts. Sure diet and exercise are options, but I firmly believe there is only so much transformation a body can undergo naturally. There is always Liposuction, but I’ve seen too much on those extreme makeover shows to subject myself to the humiliation of being unconscious and naked on a table, targets drawn with markers on my worst features, while a room full of professionals chat about where they are having lunch as a vacuum tube is rammed in and out of my thighs. Then there are the weeks of oozing sores. I am not sure who the woman is who would opt for this over a twenty-five dollar visit to the lingerie department at Macy’s, but it’s certainly not me.
I do feel sorry for men. When tummy control is involved, what you see is not what you get. Imagine the shock when the unenhanced version is finally revealed.
Partaking in the joys of such transforming garments must be tricky in the dating years. There is no doubt that having to remove a pair of nuclear powered knickers for an impromptu romp would be awkward. I have yet to find a sexy way of extracting myself. Luckily I have reached an age where I dress, and undress, to please myself, either that or my chances of an impromptu romp are about as good as McCain winning this election. It could happen, but I wouldn’t bet my waist watcher on it.
Growing older has become so easy. With Restylane, Collagen, Botox, and an entire menu of age defying lunchtime procedures, it is possible for any woman to look years younger than her actual age. And aren’t a few gray hairs really just free highlights? Armed with these possibilities, I will proudly walk into my fifties with my ass held high, thanks to my power panties.