Just for Fun
"The Class Reunion"
I had prepared for it like any intelligent woman would.
I went on a starvation diet the day before, knowing that all
the extra weight would just melt off in 24-hours,
leaving me with my sleek, trim, high-school-girl body.
The last many years of careful cellulite collection would
just be gone with a snap of a finger.
I knew if I didn't eat a morsel on Friday, that I
could probably fit into my senior formal on Saturday.
Trotting up to the attic, I pulled the gown out of the
garment bag, carried it lovingly downstairs, ran my hand over
the fabric, and hung it on the door. I stripped naked,
looked in the mirror, sighed, and thought, "Well, okay, maybe
if I shift it all to the back..."
Bodies never have pockets where you need them.
Bravely, I took the gown off the hanger, unzipped the
shimmering dress and stepped gingerly into it.
I struggled, twisted, turned, and pulled and I got the formal
all the way up to my knees ... before the zipper gave out.
I was disappointed. I wanted to wear that dress with
those silver platform sandals again and dance the night away.
Okay, one setback was not going to spoil my mood for this affair.
No way! Rolling the dress into a ball and tossing it into
the corner, I turned to Plan B: the black velvet caftan.
I gathered up all the goodies that I had purchased
at the drug store: the scented shower gel, the body
building and highlighting shampoo & conditioner, and the
split-end killer and shine enhancer.
Soon my hair would look like that girl's in the Pantene ads.
Then the makeup -- the under eye "ain't no lines here"
firming cream, the all-day face-lifting gravity-fighting
moisturizer with wrinkle filler spackle!
The all-day "kiss me till my lips bleed, and see if this
gloss will come off" lipstick, the bronzing face powder
for that special glow... But first, the roll-on facial hair remover.
I could feel the wrinkles shuddering in fear.
OK -- time to get ready. I jumped into the steaming shower,
soaped, lathered, rinsed, shaved, tweezed, buffed, scrubbed,
and scoured my body to a tingling pink. I plastered my
freshly scrubbed face with the anti wrinkle,gravity fighting,
"your face will look like a baby's butt" face cream.
I set my hair on the hot rollers.
I felt wonderful. Ready to take on the world. Or in this instance,
my underwear. With the towel firmly wrapped around my
glistening body, I pulled out the black lace, tummy-tucking,
cellulite-pushing,ham hock-rounding girdle, and the matching
"lifting those bosoms like they're filled with helium" bra.
I greased my body with the scented body lotion and began
the plunge. I pulled, stretched, tugged, hiked, folded, tucked,
twisted, shimmied, hopped, pushed, wiggled, snapped, shook,
caterpillar crawled, and kicked. Sweat poured off my forehead,
but I was done. And it didn't look bad.
So, I rested. A well deserved rest, too. The girdle was
on my body. Bounce a quarter off my behind? It was tighter than a trampoline. Can you say, "Rubberbaby buggy bumper butt?"
Okay, so I had to take baby steps, and walk sideways,
and I couldn't move from my butt cheeks to my knees.
But, I was firm!
Oh no...I had to go to the bathroom! And there wasn't
a snap crotch. From now on, undies gotta have a snap crotch.
I was ready to rip it open and re-stitch the crotch with
Velcro, but the pain factor from past experiments was
still fresh in my mind.
I quickly side stepped to the bathroom. An hour later,
I had answered nature's call and repeated the struggle into
the girdle. I was ready for the bra and remembered what the
saleslady said to do. I could see her glossed lips mouthing,
"Do not fasten the bra in the front and twist it around.
Put the bra on the way it should be worn --
straps over the shoulders. Then, bend over and gently
place both breasts inside the cups."
Easy if you have four hands. But, with confidence,
I put my arms into the holsters, bent over and pulled the bra down ...
but the boobs weren't cooperating. I'd no sooner tuck one
in a cup, and while placing the other, the first would slip out.
I needed a strategy.
I bounced up and down a few times, tried to dribble them
in with short bunny hops, but that didn't work. So, while
bent over, I began rocking gently back and forth on my heel and
toes and I set 'em to swinging. Finally, on the fourth swing, pause,
and lift, I captured the gliding glands. Quickly fastening the back of
the bra, I stood up for examination.
Back straight, slightly arched, I turned and faced the mirror,
turning front, and then sideways. I smiled, "Yes, Houston, we have
lift up!" My breasts were high, firm and there was cleavage!
I was happy until I tried to look down. I had a chin rest and
I couldn't see my feet. I still had to put on my pantyhose, and shoes.
Oh, why did I buy heels with buckles?
Then I had to pee again.
I put on my sweats, fixed myself a drink, ordered pizza,
and skipped the reunion.
(Unknown Author)
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