Let’s get one thing straight: I needed a word like “girdle.” It’s bold and unapologetic, just like I was determined to be. There was no time for airy terms like “shapewear,” “slimproved,” or “body briefer.” No, I had a mere three hours to shed 20 pounds before a fancy dinner, and these pantyhose were my last shot at looking fabulous.
I took a gamble on the size, made my purchase, and darted home.
As I opened the package, the pantyhose flopped dramatically to the floor, and I realized I might have just bought a pair designed for a giant. They were at least 8 feet long, with the girdle portion alone measuring a staggering 4 feet. A quick check of the packaging reassured me that I had indeed selected the right size—no “irregulars” in sight. If I hadn’t been in such a rush, I might have laughed out loud. These pantyhose seemed like they were made for a supermodel, not someone with a little more curve appeal.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, I took a deep breath. It was now or never; once I put these bad boys on, there would be no turning back—scissors would be my only escape. The back of the package boasted a silhouette of a woman in the pantyhose, and I noticed that the waistband was designed not to rest at the waist but to cling just beneath the bust. I wondered if that meant all the extra bits around my middle would be pushed up, creating an unintentional boost to my assets. “Why not?” I thought.
I won’t bore you with the details, but there was some serious swearing, hopping, sweating, and yanking involved. Miraculously, the girdle stretched just enough to accommodate my whole midsection. Joy should’ve been mine, but the pain soon overshadowed any happiness. I began to feel a tingly sensation, not from excitement, but from the lack of circulation. Even breathing became a challenge. I’d have to make do with short breaths.
There was no time for second-guessing. I had a schedule to keep. Surrendering to the inevitable sagging of the crotch (now two inches lower than nature intended), I grabbed my dress and slid it on. At the restaurant, I exited the car with short, careful steps—short breaths, a flat tummy, and well, a little less than full breasts.
As I approached the entrance, a delightful scent of freshly mowed grass wafted through the air, but I had no time to enjoy it. I pinched my nose, bracing for an onslaught. Too late! I sneezed—hard. The waistband couldn’t handle it; it curled in like a Swiss roll, and my belly popped free from its confines.
Finally, I took a deep breath after an hour of struggle. Undaunted, I shuffled toward the door, now with short steps, deep breaths, a protruding stomach, and a much flatter bust.
Looking for tips on home insemination? Check out our other posts, like this one on intracervical insemination. And if you’re exploring your options, Make a Mom is an authority on the at-home insemination kit. Also, for a thorough understanding of the processes involved, this resource on IVF is excellent.