Trying to uphold society’s perception of “the perfect image” as a middle aged woman holds a lengthy list of challenges. Besides the whole wrinkle thing (which, if you are smart, you will refer to as badges of honor), there is the fact that at a certain point, Newton’s law of gravity takes over and you end up with furniture disease—your chest is in your drawers.
Men, you can take a break here and go get a beer; the following discussion will be lost on you because all YOU have to do to look dashing at an event is comb your hair and put some nice cologne on.
Women, grab the chocolate and a glass of wine and let’s settle in for a chat.
Young Man got married two years ago on Monday. While we all know that everyone’s eyes are on the bride on her wedding day, as the mother of the groom I knew there were going to be eyes on me as well.
Wouldn’t you think that the best place to find a mother of the groom dress would be at a wedding store? Take my advice and skip this step. Your choices will either be Matron of the Year or Mom-turned-tramp. There was nothing in between. The dresses were either floor-length with high necks and long sleeves or something with less fabric in it than my average dish towel. Seriously?!
Fine; we will move on to the higher end clothing stores and see what’s what. Better choices but ungodly prices. Okay, we’ll wait and hit the high end stores at clearance sale time.
My fashion guru is Princess (who looks elegant in tinfoil, mind you) and my mother-in-law, so off we went to an outlet mall near Princess’s apartment. We hit pay dirt in the second store and found a very nice dress that would do quite well for the wedding plus wasn’t so fussy that it wouldn’t also work for future dressy affairs I might need to attend.
Problem? It was fairly tailored and showed all of my Villages of Cellulite and Subdivisions of Fat that I have learned how to disguise with strategic clothing choices over the years. So it was on to the foundation garment section of a local department store.
Have you been in one of these sections recently? There are thousands of choices for bustiers, girdles, booty-shapers, body shapers, and thigh shapers all designed by some evil, sadistic little elf with nothing better to do than imagine a Shamu-sized woman trying to fit into an Ariel-the-mermaid-size article of clothing.
What I discovered after locking myself in the dressing room with a dozen different devices of torture was that while no matter which piece I put on to shape some body part…it just squeezed and bulged out in other places. It was like trying to hold raw egg in your hand. Got the thighs sort of under control where the shaper thing was…but beneath and above the shaper…bulges that were worse than what I started with. Belly flattener/shaper—yeah, that gave me panty lines the size of the Grand Canyon.
After many tears and words I would slap my children for, I found the least crappy looking thing and bought it without consulting my fashion gurus. They were miffed, but I couldn’t handle any comments at that point.
After many tears and words I would slap my children for, I found the least crappy looking thing and bought it without consulting my fashion gurus. They were miffed, but I couldn’t handle any comments at that point.
I had that shaper staring at me for several months while the wedding got closer and closer. Trust me, I could hear it snickering at me in my sleep, but I was determined not to embarrass Young Man and his bride on their big day by looking like a fancy sack of potatoes in the family pictures.
A crash exercise program and some creative calorie counting got me into the control top nylons, the evil torture device, and the dress for their wedding. Did I look like Jennifer Aniston…not even close (of course, I never did so what do you expect). However, I looked respectable enough that no one ran screaming in terror.
Will it matter in five or ten years what I looked like on their wedding day? Nope, not a bit. Will anyone even remember what I wore? Probably not. What matters is that I got to be there to celebrate with them as they asked God’s blessing as they started their new life together.
Apparently I am not the only one who has been through the girdle-vs-middle battle. Check out this story for a true gut busting laugh! http://hiccup1001.tripod.com/id23.htm
And here is the proof that men can look dashing with a lick and promise...my favorite guys looking all handsome and debonair!
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