Thursday, August 21, 2008

Mission Impossible

This afternoon I am on a mission.
It is a mission that no woman in her right mind would tackle.
It is psychologically damaging, physically abusing, and mentally challenging.
It is not for the faint-of-heart or the fickle female.
It is a mission for those who are willing to be slapped in the face,
teased, taunted, and rejected.

And all that from a little 3-way mirror...

Yes, my mission today is to go out into the size 4 world
and buy clothes for my size 14 (16?) (18?) body.
My mission is to swim through oceans of teeny, tiny tanks,
lo-cut jeans, graphic skeleton-headed tee shirts
and torture twisting underwear.
I am on an agonizing quest to discover perfect jeans,
practical tops, and the most comfortable, smoothing bras.

When entering the mall with a mission such as mine,
there are traps everywhere.
Signs will scream 50% off!
Mannequins will hypnotize you,
sales people will ambush you,
and window-displays will slyly divert your true task.

An important part of a successful mission is being prepared.
Wear something easy to remove while in the dressing room.
No layers or laces to tug and tie.
No luggage-sizes purses to drag you down.
No just-done hairdos or meticulously manicured nails.

Suit up in your best armor.
I find that pull on pants, a wrinkled tee shirt
and flip flops make the best uniform.
And-( just a personal tip)-
wear your best bra
to lift those babies up where they need to be.
Even the most expensive top can
look a little deflated when
the girls are lying down on the job.

Preparation of funds is also vital.
Debit, check, cash, and credit are all necessary items.
However, your mission budget must always be
realistically multiplied by two.
Contrary to what my husband might believe-
you just can't buy a pair of jeans for ten dollars.
And also- ruffles on blouses, gems on jeans,
and Velcro on footwear are absolute no-no's.

I meditate this morning-
Close my eyes and imagine racks of perfect clothing.
See myself sliding on sleek jeans,
effortlessly modeling terrific tops,
and finding underwear that is gorgeous but gentle.
I imagine the mirrors being gracious and flattering.
I imagine the prices being reasonable and easily reachable.

But suddenly I am jolted back to reality!

I see the true reflection of a blurred blob,
back fat,
bulbous bloating,
and cities of creeping spider-veins
and thick cellulite.

I am a sucker for punishment, I suppose.
But, I am on a mission and I must not be discouraged.
I trudge from the safety and comfort of my home
to face the truth -
the insanity -
the funky fashion world
that depresses and destroys the female ego.

What an impossible mission!
What in the hell am I in for?