mistoferin
Posts: 8284
Joined: 10/27/2004
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I accepted myself long, long ago and it IS the most precious gift you can give yourself. I'm glad that you found it....some people never do.
I got this little story in my email...thought it was funny and kind of appropriate...although I wish that in the end the lady would have gone just as she is and had a great time.
quote:
58 YEAR OLD WOMAN'S 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."
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 ll-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, "Rubber baby 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.
_____________________________
Peace and light,
~erin~
There are no victims here...only volunteers.
When you make a habit of playing on the tracks, you thereby forfeit the right to bitch when you get hit by a train.
"I did it! I admit it and I'm gonna do it again!"
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