Sunday, January 15, 2017
Today I am grateful for bulge-busting yoga pants. Oh boy. I went back to Weight Watchers yesterday. . .again. . .still trying after all these years. So in order to support a higher protein, garbage-dispose the leftover Christmas candy which I made an extra batch of after Christmas. . . eating plan, I cooked today.
While the turkey sausages, chicken breasts and spinach, mushroom, onion quiche were in the oven, I sat at the kitchen table to read the newspaper. I skimmed over the usual and devoured the usual. I have never met a kitchen chair that was comfortable for me. They dig into the backs of my thighs, cutting off the blood and irritating the brain. Mine are no exception. Even with a cushion. Actually two. One stays with the chair, one I carry around.
Turning the page, already irritated, there they were. Two women wearing “Smoothing it Out”, bulge-busting yoga pants. Are you kidding me? Let me get this right. You have a body for which you could even consider wearing those sprayed-on nightmares and now they are making them with bulge-busting control to hide your what? Bones? Unshaved legs? Any vestige of a human being inside them?
Himself was padding around the house when I was shouting at the newspaper so I hollered, (in a nice way, of course) “Please bring me the camera!” as though my life, or his depended on it.
Handing it to me he asked, “What are you taking a picture of?” I told him about the bulge-busting yoga pants. Pause. You know that moment when you and your husband share a “look” between you, where each knows that the other better not say a word? Yeah, that one. It used to indicate a quick toss in the hay, now it means “tread carefully asshole”. Well Himself is looking at me and I’m looking at him and he raises an eyebrow and says, “That’s going to make the blog!” And walks away. Fast. He lives.
Where can I get these? Do they have any bolder patterns or are they reserved for the Museum of Modern Art? Do I go to a women’s store or a department store? Should I just head to Home Depot for a roller, stencils and paint? Exactly how many bulges can one pair of pants bust before they, well, bust? Do they work on someone who looks like she saw an “all you can carry for free” sign at a cauliflower stand and shoved ten heads down her pants?
And if they are “control” spandex like the dreaded Spanx, then how tall of a building do you need to jump from to wedge them on without getting the ultimate wedgie? How many sizes do they lop off of your legs while still allowing you to be able to get your shoes on, or get behind your steering wheel?
I wonder if there is a disclaimer on the number of bulges they bust? If I order a 4X and wear them to the Silver Sneakers Chair Exercise class will everyone think I’m serious, or will they yank up their chairs like Lion Tamers waiting for the imminent explosion? A new circus act. . .but a day too late. Rats.