It’s the first date. He’s amazing. He likes you. He’s listening to you! You like him. You’re listening to him. The two of you go for a walk. The wine has gotten to your heads. You’ve gotten to each other’s heads. He pulls you in for a kiss that stops time, shakes the earth’s core, and make the stars look like glitter specks. You don’t have those first date hang-ups. The energy is right. If he asks, you really, REALLY want to say yes. Except…you’re wearing this
…and a Spanx.
Now, most dudes, particularly those in the Thick Snack Appreciate Society (hey yall), won’t trip. You could be wearing burlap, and the average dude will still whip it out. That isn’t the issue at all. Lean in closely, so that I might explain the issue…
GETTING THAT MESS ON AND OFF IS AN OLYMPIC EVENT! My sisters in Spanx know what I’m talking about. There’s not a big girl alive, who at least once in her Spanx wearing life, hasn’t pulled that bad boy half way up, paused, took a deep breath, called on Jesus, bowed down prayed to the East, and said nam myoho renge kyo. The same goes for when you put on the Kevlar vests we call bras, hook it, spin it ALLLLLLLLLLLLL the way around, then pause and ponder the cosmos. After all that what do you when the sexy times are staring you in the face?
When you see things are going well at dinner, do you tiptoe to the bathroom and take off the Spanx then? Do you explain the body explosion, or just treat it like a silent elevator fart? The bra…if you get the Butterfly joint, that’s EIGHT hooks. After the sixth hook, don’t ya’ll go together? Let’s say that you do go about making the beast with two backs. Then what? Do you just skip off happily into the sunset, Spanx in hand? You KNOW you can’t put that thing back on. Once my Spanx comes off for the night, it’s not going back on for like, three days. Do you stuff it in your purse? Do you spin it around like a helicopter, indicative of smang victory? I’m good at turning the silly into the utterly ridiculous, so I’d probably play slingshot games with mine. Either that or forget it somewhere. (I don’t spend a whole lot of time playing the “Why Am I Single?” game for obvious reasons.)
The truth is, once you’re past a certain stage of sexual development (the actual age can vary between individuals), there are lots of hang ups that you just don’t hold on to. My fat rolls, though a pain, are here now. So you can either decline the smang, or do some things with them. That being said, once a dude witnesses the Spanx Olympics, that’s a level of comfort that you just don’t replicate every day. And mercy, if he pulls it up? He’s stuck with me on some “And I am telling you” steez.
Clearly, I don’t know all the rules on support garment etiquette, when you’re getting some of that new-new, so what say you Dreamers?