Thursday, June 06, 2013

The girdle hurdle

I tell you people, everything.

So I went, coughing and wheezing, to Tenzenis to try on the leggings that I think we are going to have to wear for the show. Horrendous is too soft a word. Then I kind of slept walked my way next door to Golden Point. To be fair, I was also looking for socks and a birthday present for Alessandra, but I found myself asking for a body. In Lucca if you ask for a body they probably will not provide directions to the nearest plastic surgeon or show you where the corpse is buried. Un body is a girdle of some kind. I bought it and then tried on the horrendous leggings with it. It was a slight improvement. I feel like when the photos are really horrible afterwards, which they will be, if I have the girdle on, I will feel at least like I tried my best. They are not tight enough to really decrease the girth of my short, curvy person thighs, but they do push everything into a longer shape. I mean Beyonce has strong thighs and I am pretty sure she would never put these on even if Jay Z begged her to do it. The problem is that the girdle goes all the way up my rib cage so I have to make sure that no one gets a peek at it under the t-shirt, that, we have to assume, is also horrendous.

It makes me feel a little like this:
But you know what they say about being prepared:
To think that my biggest worry a month ago was whether I would have to get a spray tan for this gig. I'm not going to get a spray tan because there is too much room for disaster, toxins and humiliation as it is. I am going to have to live with being whiter than a ball of mozzarella in my white outfit.

Oh and while I am sharing my tales of utter humiliation, let me also tell you that the lady in charge of the fashion show read my FB post where I put up a photo making fun of the Reebok leggings so I had to message her to say that while I do not want to strut a cat walk for her, I would volunteer to help out in other ways. I hope this does not include giving anyone a last minute hot wax. Although, that actually could work in my favor. Lasciamo stare. . .
(not me.) Sorry, thighs, you never did anything that bad to me.

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