I'm sick. I spent yesterday lying in bed. The entire day. I cannot remember the last time that happened. Maybe the year I was born. Or the year I dated a gymnast. Though that wasn't really lying. More like letting someone practice his front handsprings on my thighs.
Ah, the limber days of youth.
As hard as I tried, I could not get off the QVC channel. The spokespeople are so fricken convincing. They get you in some kind of mind meld. You find yourself standing in front of the TV shouting "yes! yes! It is magic!"
Before I knew it, two hours had passed and I'd ordered $80 worth of make-up. Now I'm nervous. I don't know how to apply make-up other than the rudimentary slapping on of foundation and mascara. I can make up my face, but whenever I go for night time glamor/drama/glitter (you know, once every decade), I look more like an uptight hooker (I have a fatal wardrobe condition known as always-dressed-like-it's-a-workday).
I told Chuck about my purchase and how 2010 will be the year I look more polished and do you know what he said?
"Don't! You'll only look uglier!"
My husband. It's a wonder I ever let that gymnast dismount.
Chuck quickly backpedaled, saying that women who wear make-up 24-7 look extra horrible without make-up because you forget what they look like au natural. He said he likes my natural beauty. Blah, blah, blah. I guess I forgive him.
But I do not forgive the people who created this:
Ignoring the irony that's ravaging my insides (extra ass in our thin-obsessed society? are you kidding me?) I must ask: Am I the only person who doesn't know about this product? I almost fell out of bed laughing when the commercial aired. Between all the padded products on the market (like the Victoria's Secret Miraculous™ push-up bra, which adds two cup sizes), you'd think we were a bunch of flat chested, bony-assed stick figures.
(Obviously we're not. According to the American Demographics journal, the average American woman is 5'4" tall, weighs 145 lbs. with a dress size of 11 to 14, has a 36-37" bust, is about 29" around the waist and close to 40" around the hips.)
I want to know: What happens when you meet a guy and decide to get horizontal? What happens when you remove your undergarments and you have no ass or breasts? I want to be a guy for a night just so I can witness the metamorphosis. Just so I can say, "Is it just me or is all your booty on the rug?"
I guess in a way it's like washing off make-up. Like, "Is it just me or is all your pretty in the drain?"
Wow, man. Daytime television gets you thinking—about incinerating your TV.
Happy New Year! I hope you—and your booty—have a great night.
About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.