A Rubber Maid Container (or more accurately, Rubber Matron Container, because I’m married, and too old to be considered a maid. I do serve people, but in my profession we are called “MOM!”)

A generic adult female squeezes her fat into a lycra-intensive garment so she won’t shake like a bowlful of jelly.

So I’m still rambling on about the play I’m in (Wizard of Oz)—because it’s dominating my life at the moment. But I prefer that acting dominate my life to such things as a backed-up sewer in my basement, sick kids or husband, neighbor wars over parenting issues, a History of Mathematics paper, an upcoming blind date (not that I've had a blind date in years--although if GAH's eyes develop glaucoma, I will) or laundry, so I’m not complaining.

Not about the actual singing or being on stage, anyway. I’m not even got to complain about my super hot (in a temperature kind of way) crow costume, which involves black long sleeves, gloves and a hat covered with feathers. Because I know Lion and Tin Man have it way worse than I. Being stuffed inside a furnace duct system for an hour and a half and being made to dance under the bright lights of so-far-off-Broadway-that-you’d-need-a-Leer-jet-to-get-there-by-7 is a great way to lose weight, and consciousness. And I know from personal experience (I get to help Lion during a 2-minute costume change) that a furry costume retains the perspiration that is supposed evaporate to cool the skin if it’s hot. Boy howdy, does the Lion get sweaty! So I’m not complaining about my costume (anyway, I heart my feather boa).

What I do want to complain about is the GIRDLE I have to wear. I spared myself the indignity of being told by the director to wear one by making the decision on my own in advance. I thought I would also spare the audience the nightmarish vision of my belly fat rolling around on stage. I should be paying the audience for that kind of show. Besides the only people who would take me up on that offer would be those who actually like to gouge their eyes out with their own fingernails. Come to think of it, though, maybe there is an audience for it after all, judging by all the hits this website gets from PFs (Porn Freaks) googling “Chubby Girls.” But I digress.

I ventured out to the local mall in search of a “foundation garment.” I looked at Lane Bryant, but didn’t find anything. I’ll admit I didn’t look very hard. Maybe they were there and in my embarrassment of actually being in the market for anabdominal suppressor, I may have temporarily blinded myself (like a small child playing hide-and-seek—if I close my eyes, the saleslady won’t see me looking for a girdle). So I headed to Sears, the store for people who remember when girdles were a necessary item of clothing. I guessed right. Sears had a rack of them—sizes XS to 2XL. “XS?” you say? That’s what I thought. I’ll grant even ladies who wear a size L may have the need, but GIVE ME A BREAK! Does the fashion world have no shame, telling miniscule-waisted women that they, too, need reshaping? Anyone who wears clothing that would fit on the Geico gecko DOES NOT NEED A GIRDLE.

Sighing heavily (I can’t even sigh lightly), I purchased the last two 2XL Slim Shapers on the rack. I guess either girdle makers are underestimating their target market or girdles are more popular than I had thought, since there were only two in my size altogether. While they don’t make me look much thinner (another sigh—where is the magic potion that will rid me of my extra poundage?), they do contain and restrain rather well. No jiggling. No ripple effect. No gluteus maximi hanging low, no belly fat trying to kiss my kneecaps. I can’t breathe, but one must make sacrifices for her craft.

Comments

[Sarah]

It's totally awesome that you didn't grab an XS girdle, take it to the nearest salesperson, jam the tag in his or her face and shout, "Bitch, please!" It also would have been totally awesome if you did.

As for magic formulas, sometimes I think I'd sell my soul for it. But then a few minutes later I'm like, I'd sell my soul for some mentos. Cosmically it might be a wash.

Don't know how near you are to opening night, but break a leg!

[GAF]

Salespeople deserve not to be punished any more than they already are by having to work in retail (I have worked in retail and know what it's like). Now if a designer or marketing agent for Playtex had been handy, the gloves would have been off and security would have had to use the Jaws of Life pry my fingers off his or her scrawny neck.

Both legs have been broken--opening night was last Friday. We have performances this weekend and next. I've been having a blast. My daughter is in it with me and is now anxious to try out for more.

[Miss Laura]

Is she going to become a Stage Daughter? That would rule.

[GAF]

Oh yeah. She was so excited when I said that I would try out too. She really wanted me in it with her--at the very least, I would drive her to and from without complaining.

[Jerilyn]

Have you seen that show "Stage Moms & Dads"?

HILARIOUS.

[Laurie Ann]

Don't be too dismissive about girdles. I wear a firm control panty, and it does make me look slimmer, and, yes I can breath!

[Wendy]

Although I'm far from small, and don't wear a girdle, find it very strange that people get worked up about a small size girdle. If someone wants to wear one, or if the manufacturers want to produce one, fair enough. They're not illegal or immoral are they? What's the problem?

[GAF]

That they didn't have many in my size.

Actually the 2XLs were still small but there weren't any bigger ones available. I don't mind the existence of small ones, but WHY WERE THERE NO BIG LADY ONES???

[Wendy]

Girdles used to be for the likes of us, Chubby Girls. Now they seem to be called "control briefs" and designed for, and, I imagine worn by, business and professional women who want to look "smart". That's their privilege. I'm happy without one.

[ricky]

My name is ricky and I'm a perv. Email me at [email protected].