Most women will catch themselves, at one point or another, uttering a phrase that leads them to say, “OMG! I’ve turned into my mother.” For yours truly that moment happened while doing laundry with my husband. Except it wasn’t what I said, it was the fact that he sniggered while folding my Spanx.
My mother has been wearing support undergarments for as long as I can remember. My sister and I used to laugh, not understanding how she could stand the daily constriction. Then I birthed two babies, and no matter how much yoga I’d done, no matter how close to my pre-baby weight I came, my belly was jelly.
I work in an office of 20-something fashion-forward women, who haven’t yet hit the metabolic rate of a hibernating bear (nor squeezed a set of shoulders out their Hanky Pankied bits). So some mornings I’d find myself stuffing my sausage body into the Spanx casing to give the appearance of a flatter tummy (and fool me into thinking I could pass for 28).
But when I saw those Spanx come out of the laundry basket, I realized that I’d worn them every day that week. And it’s no longer just for a flatter abdominal outline, but to keep all the jiggly bits from creating tremors of seismic proportions.
“OMG! I’ve turned into my mother!” I gasped.
Without my boob-to-knee bodysuit I’m like an escargot in a nice sauce with no shell, no two-pronged fork. Are Spanx the corset of the new millennium? Possibly. But for the first time since my ‘tweens, I’m thinking my Mom was onto something.