By Brittany Asplin
Need advice on being female? Laugh and learn alongside me as I learn a valuable lesson on womanhood.
Recently, I went shopping with Mum for a new dress. When I tried one on, I noticed a few less than flattering lumps were bluging from under the dress. My Mum, being the thoughful woman she is, suggested I try some Spanx just to smooth some of the bumps. If you're not familiar with Spanx, they're a type of full coverage knickers made from a stretchy alloy of vibranium and adamantium, designed to make your squishy bits look less like they exist. If I'd known what was going to happen next, I would've declined. Unfortunately for me, I'm not a fortune teller.
I started to feel like Bridget Jones as Mum passed them to me; they looked awful. They go from my knees to just under my boobs, and in a ugly beige colour that only old ladies wear, but I naively agreed to try them on. Now I had no idea how to put on Spanx but I figured you would put them on like any normal knickers, step in and pull up.
As I pull them on, the higher they get the harder it was to yank them up. I sit for a moment trying to catch my breath and begin to ponder whether this was a good idea. After 10 minutes of struggling the Spanx have not gone any higher than my knees, but the persistent woman in me thought "No, I can do this! And I'll look fabulous once these are on my body."
I attempted to haul them up again with the 'jump and yank technique' which sometimes works with with jeans; nevertheless it only resulted in me tripping and falling into the wall. After 15 minutes of trying my arms began to tire, so I let go of the Spanx. My knees snapped shut and I tripped over my feet, smacked into the wall, and fell with my legs sticking out under the door.
Using the seat, I heave myself up and continued to pull on these horrendous underwear. Whose idea was it to make these ridiculous stretchy knickers? My theory is that Spanx were designed by fathers with daughters because you can't open your legs without them immediately springing shut again.
20 minutes later with multiple trips, grunts and groans I finally got them on.
During this traumatic process I soaked my shirt in sweat, pulled a muscle in my arm, got a lump on my head from when I fell, broke all my nails, rubbed all the skin off my knuckles, and stretched my own knickers till they ripped and went so far up my butt that my voice rose several octaves.
At this point the crotch is trapped between my thighs, confirming my theory that they're made by fathers with daughters. Seriously, try and get laid with them on; once they're on, you sure as hell can’t get the damn things off! They cling to your skin like a sloth to a tree and will not let go. By the time you get them off your date has either fallen asleep or escaped while you were in the bathroom (because no way would you get caught dead with them on).
I opened the door to show Mum; she was dying with laughter and dabbing her eyes with a tissue. Maybe she planned this all along? Torment me for nearly half an hour and to have a “remember the time” story to tell to the rest of our family members. As I showed Mum the final result, the lingerie attendant walked past and looked into the changing room. She explained to me that there is a technique; you roll the leg like a pair of stockings and as you slide them up you unroll as you go up. Oh, and that I also had a pair that was two sizes too small.
After all that, I did go home with a pair of Spanx, except this time they were the right size!