Spandex and Boob Padding, A Curvy Womans Strife

What happened to the good old days? No, I’m not talking about back when gas was 80 cent a gallon, or when everyone practiced free love, or even back before they did away with Crystal Pepsi.

I am talking about back when curves were fabulous and women were voluptuous.

I have always said that I was born in the wrong era. I stand 6 foot 2 inches tall, with full on curves. Not so much in the front, but I have booty for days…and the middle just does what it can to even the two out. In the old days, artists used to paint women of my shape. Curves were the ultimate sign of beauty. Used to I would joke and say that I was built more like a black girl, but lately when I watch the 50 cent videos, even the black girls are tiny!

So as curvy women, we try to find ways to transform into what society currently deems as sexy. When we go out in our fancy dress, we can’t possibly walk out the door without our butt and tummy shaping panties. They call them panties, but they are more like full on 80’s biker shorts. So, after we put on our spanky pants, we then have to worry about our chest area. We need those suckers up and perky! So we put on our Wonder Bra, or if we are really unlucky, our fancy dress requires a strapless bra. We then have to change gears and put on our gel filled strapless torture device that guarantees to pump us up one full size…all the while making it quite impossible to expand our ribs while we breathe. This is made all the more horrid because of the tight little shorts digging into our stomach and beginning to roll. Some women might opt for the even more horrific corset. This pretty much guarantees that we will not sit, laugh, or breathe for the entire evening. After all of these things are on, hoping that we don’t have to put on panty hose, we have to wiggle your way into the fancy dress, trying not to mess up our perfectly styled hair (just because we are curvy women doesn’t mean our hair isn’t flipping fabulous) or our just right makeup. Then comes the fun part. We have to manage to get into those too high sexy heels that make us taller, longer, and take attention away from our rear. The shoes in question do cut off circulation and make us fall when we walk, but damn, aren’t they cute? So as we make our way down the stairs(trying our best to not fall, not let the shorts roll, keep our bra in the upright position, and smile, because you know big people are supposed to be jolly) to our impatient man who has been calling our name for about 30 minutes, we ask how we look.

“Fine.”

Fine?!?!? Are you freaking kidding me!?!? It took us almost 2 hours to squeeze and shape and mold ourselves into this outfit! The whole way to the party we refuse to talk to him, partly because we are mad at his disregard for the obvious knockout that we transformed into and partly because we are unable to breathe enough to form words in the sitting position with all of our restrictive undergarments on.

When we get to the party, we feel totally sexy and mad fresh. But then we start to see all the little skinny bitches that have on these flowy little dress that we are positive have no spanky pants underneath. We immediately hate these women and begin to plot their demise, all the while smiling. Don’t want to let the skinny bitches think that they are bothering us. We drink, converse, and have a relatively good time.

When we get home, we look in the mirror. We have suddenly turned from the sex goddess we were when we left the house into a puffy, red faced troll. We begin to wonder how long we have looked like this. As we peel off all the layers of restriction with our sweatpants and t shirt in plain sight, our spirits lift as we remember there is some new ice cream in the fridge. Just as the ice cream does it job and cheers us right up, we remember…

We stay warmer in the winter time and those skinny bitches freeze.

…and if we are lucky our man will remember how hot we were tonight…