I went to the mailbox today, finally getting up the chutzpah to make it to the mailbox in the drizzling, cold rain and wind. Ugh. Bills probably. And I was right, of course. Gas bill, electric bill, mortgage statement. Ahhh, here’s the Victoria’s Secret swimsuit catalog. That reminds me; I need to pick up some hemlock for tonight’s chicken casserole.
Why do I do this to myself? Every year, I order something from Victoria’s Secret. Granted, it may be a lipstick or a super-cinching miracle girdle, but I do it just the same. I think it keeps me in touch with my secret seductress. Last time I saw her was in my early 20s, but whatever. She’s still in here under this extra fat and attitude - somewhere. And every year I forget – they send me the swimsuit catalog.
Now I ask you – how many people do you know who look like these models? They are beautiful, stunning, mouth-wateringly gorgeous, and I’m a hetero woman! But please, tell me, how many women do you know who actually look like these chicks without airbrushing? Even THEY don’t look this good without touch-ups!
I brought the mail in and put it all on the kitchen table. I sorted through it, and I left the VS catalog on the table, unopened. I have to be in the right frame of mind to open it. I have to be about 2 glasses into a good Chardonnay to look at it. The last one that came was the day after Halloween. Whose idea is it to send out a catalog for bulimic zippers the day after the nation’s biggest candyfest?
So I’m sitting here, sipping wine and flipping through the pages, looking at these gorgeous women wearing tie-dyed dental floss and acting as though they don’t have a care in the world. Here’s one wearing a black suit, slashed and revealing. She looks like Freddie Kruger got ahold of her after drinking a few Red Bulls. She looks drop-dead gorgeous. My mind wanders to how I might look in that same suit. Yikes. I’d have fat poking out every hole and slash – not pretty. I’d look like one of those speed strips they install in the road before you get to a stop sign. I look at these little suits with the “triangle” tops. Please. Tsunamis have been started with less pressure. I simply can’t wear these things, not without making headlines.
You know what though? I have given birth to two children and raised countless more, one way or the other. I have a kick-a** education. I maintain a beautiful home, keep my husband very happy and do what I love for a living. I have friends who would kill for me and for whom I would do the same. I care for my elderly father, travel when I can, laugh every chance I get and marvel at the strength of real women. I find beauty and ingenuity because I look for it. I spotlight it every chance I get.
There are some days when I’d trade every bit of that for a body that would look great in one of these Spandex bandaids, but then, I dig who I am. I dig my life. And yes, I even dig my curves and, I dunno, whatever you call all this extra. It’s like badges that the scouts earn. “This stretch mark is from my son. This bulge is from my daughter…” And so on, and on…
Man, wonder what the mailman will bring tomorrow.
Do you ever find yourself amused (and amazed) by peoples' white trash antics?