- Spring is in the air (2/25/20)1
- Being healthy in 2020 (1/28/20)
- Remembering the birth of a daughter in January, 1959 (1/21/20)1
- Happy birthday, Tootie Mae (1/14/20)
- Welcome to the new year (1/7/20)
- This day before Christmas (12/27/19)
- Mary Lou looks back to another snowfall, another winter (12/18/19)
Yesterday I decided to rummage through some papers in my file cabinet. After shredding most of the discarded material taken from the folders, I unfolded a sheet of paper containing a funny story from an unknown writer.
I read the lady’s tell-all at my last class reunion. The attendees of the Class of 1957 of Brazil High School gathering seemed to enjoy the humor. Before it meets its doom to the blades of the shredder I’ll share it with you!
“Class Reunion of a 60+ Old Lady.”
I had prepared for it like any intelligent woman would. I went on a starvation diet the day before, knowing that all of the extra would just melt away in 24 hours, leaving me with my sleek, trim high school-body. The last forty years of careful cellulite collection would just be gone with the snap of a finger.
I knew if I didn’t eat a morsel on Friday, that I could probably fit into my senior formal on Saturday.
Trotting up to the attic, I pulled the gown out of the garment bag carried it lovingly downstairs ran my hand over the fabric and hung it on the door. I stripped, looked in the mirror, sighed and thought “Well, okay, maybe if I shift it all to the back…” Bodies never have pockets when you need them. Bravely I took the gown off the hanger, unzipped the shimmering dress and stepped gingerly into it.
I struggled, twisted, turned, and pulled and I got it to my knees …before the zipper gave out. I was disappointed. I wanted to wear that dress with my silver sandals again and again and dance the night away.
Okay, one setback was not going to spoil my mood for this affair. No way! Rolling the dress into a ball and tossing it into the corner, I turned to Plan B: the black crepe caftan.
I gathered up goodies that I had purchased from Saks: the scented shower gel; the body building and highlighting shampoo and conditioner; the split-end killer and shine. Soon my hair would look like the girls in the Pantene ads.
Then the make-up the under the eye “no lines here” the all day face-lifting gravity-fighting moisturizer for that special glow.
But first, the roll-on facial hair remover. I could feel the wrinkles shuddering in fear. Okay, time to get ready! I jumped into the steaming shower, soaped, lathered, rinsed, shaved, tweezed, buffed and scoured my body to a tingling pink.
I plastered my freshly scrubbed face with anti-wrinkle, gravity fighting “your face will look like a baby’s posterior” face cream. I set my hair on hot rollers. I felt wonderful. Ready to take on the world, or in this instance my underwear. With the towel firmly wrapped around my glistening body I pulled out the black lace, tummy tucking, cellulite -pushing, ham-hock rounding girdle, and the matching lift those bosoms like they’re filled with a helium bra.
I greased my body with scented lotion and began the plunge. I pulled, tugged, hiked, folded twisted, shimmied, wiggled, snapped, shook, caterpillar crawled and kicked. Sweat poured off my forehead but I was done. And it didn’t look bad. So I rested.
The girdle on my body was tight. I couldn’t move from my buns to my knees, but my buns were firm! Can you say, “Rubber, baby buggy bumper buns? Okay, so I had to take baby steps and walk sideways, and I could not move from my buns to my knees. But, I was firm.
Oh no... I had to go to the bathroom. An hour later, I had answered natures call and repeated the struggle into the girdle. I was ready for the bra. I remembered what the sales lady said to do. I could see her glossed lips mouthing, “Do not fasten the front and twist it around. Put the bra on the way it should be worn -- straps over the shoulders. Quickly fastening the bra, I stood up for examination. Back straight, slightly arched, I turned and faced the mirror, turning front and then sideways. I smiled, yes, Houston, we have a lift-up! They were high and I had cleavage! I was happy until I looked down. I had a chin rest and I could not see my feet. I still had to put on pantyhose and shoes.
Oh... Why did I buy heels with buckles? Then I had to go to the John again. So, I put on my sweats, fixed myself a drink, ordered a pizza and skipped the high school reunion. THE END.
Personally, Paul Baby and I hope more reunions are in the plans. I love seeing my classmates they are all special to me. Just so you know, like Popeye, I am what I am. The image in the mirror means nothing to me. If a reunion happens this year or years to come I’ll be there in a heartbeat. Besides all the work we do helps, though what most of us, at 80+ see in the mirror through tired, fog covered eyes or the battle scars of life and time really does not matter to old friends.
I can be reached by phone at 317-286-7352 or drop me a line to 649 South Grant Street Brownsburg, IN., 46112.