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| Category: Anti Aging |
Date published: February 9, 2005 |
 I remember back when I wore them. Back when I didn't need them, but thought I did. The corsets I wore to look sexy, black and trimmed in lace. I may have looked like a two-bit whore, but I didn't care. I was married, and for a short span between babies, I looked good. As I look back, I didn't need the girdle, but when you're a size ten or twelve and a size eight wanna-be, you wear one. I didn't need that pushup bra either. We didn't show the private parts of our anatomies back in my day, and besides, I was "UP" there enough.
Woe! How times have changed. I want to shake this aging cage until the bars fly across the room. I would look like fifty pounds of potatoes in a ten- pound sack if I attempted to wear one of those sexy-type corsets today.
A girdle? Yup...I need one of those now, BIG TIME, but I hate those things. What you attempt to hold in on the bottom, sqeezes out and pops up over the waist. Now, what? You buy one of those all-in-one jobbies that don't fit. Buy one big enough to hold your breasts and the darn thing does nothing to hold in the blubber below. Buy it tight enough to hold the flab below and your breasts overflow like bread dough rising in a bowl too small.
Pushup bra on me today...how about a crane to lift? Oh, yeah, gravity...cotton pickin` gravity, if you're aging...you women know. It gets to us women, this aging, and it's the spreads...Thanksgiving spreads, Christmas spreads, Easter spreads, and most importantly ...MIDDLE AGE SPREAD.
Many women don't need those things today, the girdles and pushup bras, that is (the corsets they still wear)...they have their friend the plastic surgeon to make them over. Jowls hanging down? He will lift them, or fill your face with gunk until you can no longer smile or frown. Breasts heading southward, he can lift them, too. If too small, he'll give you implants. Does your stomach and thighs run together? He'll remove the pounds of fat. Women are looking better and better in their coffins now days, and some don't allow their age to be printed in the obituary.
Me, ah, heck, I'm aging, nearing sixty. There, I've told. It's been a while now since I could fool someone into thinking I didn't qualify for a senior citizen discount. I'm there, sitting in my aging cage with my body too big for the perch.
Corsets, girdles and pushup bras...oh, yes, I remember them.
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