Bite Me, Pseudo-Girdles!

All right, I've reached that age. It used to be that my mother-in-law would assess my hip width with a strict gaze, making little motions with one hand, pursing her lips, and then saying--"You know, Ann, you've got good hips for child-bearing!" Happy to know that, mom-in-law! And these hips did happily accomodate two babies. But somehow, we have gone from the fruitful-of-loins category to the needing-to-be-reined-in category. I rammed up against this a few weeks back when I was shopping at my favorite high-end store which I can no longer afford to shop in. I think I had managed to find some garment under $100 (perhaps it was one sock, not even a pair), when the saleslady gave me an assessing look, and with a little purse of her lips mentioned that, "I wear this tightening pair right under my dressy pants, say, if I'm going to a wedding or something." What in hell was she talking about? "Tightening pair?" "You mean GIRDLE?" I replied in a bitter voice. She shook her head. " Not really that, just--tightening," she made the same motion with her hand as my mother-in-law had done years ago. But this time it was clear: the width of my body was no longer to be celebrated and acclaimed--it was to be reined in and reduced.
Hell, I know I shouldn't be going downstairs to make chocolate chip cupcakes. Or oatmeal scones. Or Earl Grey tea with cream and one sugar. (I have my limits, after all!) But this "tightening" thing triggers all sorts of warning signals. Such as; scenes of ladies in the late 50's standing stock still on an exercising stand with some sort of elastic tubing whipping back and forth against the butt, hopefully to reduce it. And all without any effort on our parts! Second warning signal: Memories of real girdles which were made with some sort of fossilized mamoth skin, devoid of elasticity and rigid on the body. Meaning--don't eat or drink when wearing this baby! I'm sorry, those days are gone, simply....gone. We know that a smaller stomach would probably be a good thing, for all sorts of reasons. But I've developed a fondness for my second stomach, my marsupial pouch. Sure, I've almost forgotten what it was like to sit down and not have my front half fold into separate layers, with a whisper of sound. But the good news is this: come to my house any afternoon and I am sure to have something freshly baked to go with tea. You get taken care of as do I. We share tea, talk about our lives--the parts that work and the parts that don't--and lave ourselves with fresh goodies and companionship. Forget the tightening thing--it's for people who care. And people who are trying to look like something they aren't any longer.