Beauty, Uncensored: Spanx are for Lovers
After years of denial, it was time to face facts.
“Is that going to be all for you?” the saleslady asked as she rang up my new clothes.
“No,” I said. I couldn’t believe the words that were about to come out of my mouth. “I’d also like some … Spanx.”
There. I’d said it. Spanx. The modern-day girdle. Buying a pair was akin to waving a white flag in the big belly battle. My face reddened, and the saleslady took note.
“Are these your first Spanx?” she asked sympathetically as she plucked up a pair from behind the counter.
“Mm hm,” I squeaked.
“Well,” she leaned in. “They are amazing. But I’ll tell you this. They’re hell on wheels to get on.”
“Really?” I asked.
“Really,” she nodded. “But the good thing is, there’s a hole in the crotch for the bathroom. So you don’t have to worry about pulling them down again.”
“Huh.” It was a disturbing visual. I bought my Spanx and split.
My Spanx purchase was for a reason. I was going to a conference in Houston for mom bloggers and co-hosting a party for 300 people. Lots of pictures would be taken. I needed to look my best. If Spanx was what it took, then Spanx was what it had to be.
But my Spanx would also be a secret. No one needed to know that my midsection was packed into place like sausage in a casing. I managed to keep mum until the moment that I spotted my roommate, Yvonne, at the Houston airport.
“I bought Spanx!” I blurted.
“Me too!” she squealed. But they’re Assets. They’re made by the same company, but for Target.”
“Do you like them?” I asked.
“Yeah, I do,” she giggled. “They totally work!”
“What about the pee hole?”
Yvonne looked confused. “The pee hole?”
“You know,” I explained. “The hole in the crotch, so you can pee without pulling them down.”
“Mine don’t have that,” Yvonne said. Her face fell. “I guess that’s why Assets cost less than Spanx.”
I grinned smugly as we headed for the cab line. I had the pee hole.
As I put on my Spanx that night for the first time, I prepared for pain and discomfort. I found, though, that I actually felt better wearing Spanx than not wearing them. They were completely comfortable, yet for the first time, I wasn’t concentrating on holding in my gut all night long. My Spanx did that for me. Since I exerted no brain power on gut suckage, I can therefore conclude that Spanx make a woman both better looking and smarter.
I also found that I had unwittingly joined a secret club of Spanx wearers. Everywhere I looked, I noticed the telltale Mark of the Spanx.
See what I mean?
“Okay, so I’m doing a little research. Who’s wearing Spanx?” I asked at lunch on the second day of the conference. Most of the women at my table raised their hands.
“So am I!” I laughed. Spanx love ensued, along with the pros and cons of wearing Spanx knock-offs. It was quickly determined that real Spanx were undeniably best, not only because of the pee hole, but also because of the superior fabric.
“My Assets do great under a dress,” one mom said, “but I can’t wear them with pants. They stick to them.” I smiled secretively and looked down at my own Spanx-enhanced slacks with pride.
“You know, there may be another reason for the open-air crotch,” I said, looking up.
“What?” the women asked.
“Spanx sex.” The table grew silent as we contemplated the possibilities.
“Would that not be the best sex ever?” one mom mused.
“What if Spanx came out with a line of sexy lingerie?” I pondered. “Like, a pair of Spanx made of stretch satin and lace? A Spanx merry widow!”
“They could call it Spanx After Dark!” a mom volunteered eagerly.
“Can you imagine how sexy you’d feel if you didn’t have to worry about the pooch?” I asked incredulously.
“No kidding!” another mom agreed. “The slogan could be, ‘Have sex with the lights on again!’”
I knew then that this small band of Spanx wearers had hit on something that could potentially change the course of history. Spanx Sex could be for women what Viagra has been for men. For the first time in the history of mankind, women of a certain age would actually look forward to disrobing. The mind boggles.
Spanx? Are you listening?
The specter of heredity has lurked in the darker corners of Cheryl Perkins’ mind for as long as she can remember.
Her mother died of colon cancer four years ago, and nearly all of the women on her mother’s side of the family had hysterectomies between age 45 and 50 because of cancer diagnoses.
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