The Woodlands Biotch

do any of you get living magazine? you know, one of those free magazines that’s basically 80 pages of ads for ways to make yourself into the stepford wife that you are not, strung together with about 6 pages of articles that may or may not be about the same thing? well i do. you think i’m kidding about the ad to article ratio? hold on a second… yep here’s the tally: 5 plastic surgeons, 6 dentists, 12 contractors/interior designers/remodelers + two articles about making your house unique (just like everyone else’s), 14 “wellness institutes” “medispas” and “personal trainers” + three articles about ways to throw money at your low self esteem to “fix” it (including the cover article), another 11 other types of doctors (spine, hearing, vision, obgyn, etc.), plus the requisite ads for clothes, jewelry and of course… lawyers. two of ‘em. go figure. all of this nonsense aside, there are literally seven and a half pages of actual articles not about something being advertised. seven and a half out of a 90 page publication.

but in this month’s edition, there was an article that had me crying from laughter. i don’t know destiny herndon de la rosa, but i’d love to meet her for drinks. check this out:

some people fear dying on the toilet, others on the stair stepper at the gym. but i have them all beat.

if you are a woman who has ever put on spanx in the privacy of her 3,000+ degree closet, when suddenly you hear, “mommy … mommy … MOOOOOOOMMY!” you know exactly what moment i’m talking about. “DON’T OPEN THE DOOR! DO. NOT. OPEN. THAT. DOOR!”

a bit of product history: spanx are made from a poly-carbonate product created by nasa that has been molded into the size of a double zero woman. the goal is to body-snatch that woman, disregarding all laws of gravity and mass re-distribution in the process. there is an art to this though.

i recommend some light stretching for starters, as attempting to strap one on can get a bit strenuous at certain points (around the thighs, specifically). and by stretching, i mean both you and your garment. don’t be shy: really give those satan-fibers a tug.

once you’ve worked up a starter sweat, go ahead and slide your feet in. now you may be thinking, “oh, this doesn’t seem so bad—just like regular panty hose.” save that confidence; you’re going to need it here in a second.

once you’ve made it past your knees, take a sip of wine and try to conjure up every mental image you have of olympic heavy-lifters. you know that move where they go from straining to throwing the weights up over their heads really fast? you must mimic that exact move. if you try to slowly jimmy “the new you” onto your body, your muscles will atrophy and you will be praying for the sweet release of death when you see the look of horror on the emts faces as they attempt to cut you out of that full-body blood pressure cuff.

which reminds me: at this point you may want to cover up any full-length mirrors. some women find it emotionally distressing to see themselves as a human soft serve ice cream cone. (a side note: my daughter always walks in right at the soft serve step)

ok, so you’ve done the olympic hoist, pat yourself on the back—if your shoulders are still in their sockets.

now this next maneuver is very small, but mighty. You are tediously going to pinch that devil cloth up inch by inch. repeating until you reach your rib cage.

this is the point when i usually realize i should have taken more advantage of the aforementioned shin lag, because now it will be like turning the Titanic to re-adjust. if the spanx make it only halfway up to your abdomen, you may think you’re in pretty good shape, but you’re fooling yourself, sister! don’t bother getting dressed yet, because every bit of excess fat you just shoved up your torso has now become the ultimate atomic blast-shaped muffin top. you’ll be lucky if your arms can rest at your sides comfortably over that inner tube.

it won’t be easy, but here’s what you have to do. take another sip of wine while you’re still upright. wipe away the sweat. take a deep breath, hold it … and bend back over. grab every bit of excess spandex you can and, if you’re wearing the ones with feet, don’t stop until you have toe wedgies! at some point, probably around the thighs, it is pertinent that you not lose your grip or you will never regain it.

so, you’ve finally shimmied them all the way up. if you’re feeling a bit light headed that’s ok—remember you’ve been drinking a lot. and if you have any excess spanxage left, my advice is to go with the trusty old fold-over. with any luck the polymers might actually weld together from all that sweat and you’ll end up with extra-extra-extra reinforced back fat protection. or who knows? you might just end up with: ‘extra-extra-extra! read all about the chubby lady who was found half-naked, sweaty and drunk on her closet floor!’

spanx are a great product. i owe my fake-figured life to them … and hopefully i’ll never attribute them to my death. on that note, i leave you with this sweet little prayer that i honestly think should be inscribed on every package:

“as i lay me down to squoosh, i pray the lord would shrink my toosh. if i should die before i fit, i pray the lord … would just go ahead and let the earth spin off into the sun, because I swear if anyone ever found me halfway digested by this spandex cobra, mass hysteria would overtake the planet anyway.”

you’re crying too, now, aren’t you?

note: not reprinted by permission, merely with unending admiration – and let me just say again for the record that the above is not my work, nor am i claiming credit for it. also, since i’ve now discovered she apparently wrote the article back before august, 2010 (cause i do my research, tyvm) i kind of wonder if she knows that it appeared in this month’s living mag, seeing as how i don’t see them giving her credit for it? just sayin’.

edit 01/10/12 – turns out i do have her permission to post the article; (as did living mag) – see her comment below: