Are women crazy or not? They can sit for hours watching the Biggest Loser, Dancing with the Stars and then jump off the Lazy Boy (and that was named for a good reason) with fiery intention to join Weight Watchers again, walk every day for 30 mins., to look into dancing lessons and serious spray tanning. In her head she says like the little steam engine that could "I will, I will, I will look like 21 again." Well God bless you sister.
On top of that she vows to throw out all the junk food -- the chocolate -- and eat healthy. Then to further incite a riot of finding the fountain of youth, she fires up the rest of the "I look like shit and feel like shit" mid life co workers. Its like watching Judy Garland walking the munchkins down the yellow brick road. Its quite a production, yet every Season some mid life excitable woman clicks her ruby slippers and begins her journey to looking like Barbie again.
Now, as a Solutionist, I try to find solutions that are reality based and doable. What is it that mature women really want to accomplish? Well first of all it should be sanity. Having a body of a 21 year old at 40 plus is about as sane as Michael Jackson with his Peter Pan plan.
Secondly highly impossible without some serious plastic surgery cash and jaw wiring. If you could out do the Octomom, who popped out 6 kids, now she has money for nipping and tucking and hopefully jaw wiring, you too could be the proud recipient of the guppy lips and a cosmetically enhanced body. So no cash, bye bye Barbie.
Also genetics aren't a solution. Genetics even the good kind are a toss up and need constant care. I cite our rich Barbie Cher who would have paid anything to redo her Chastity whoops Chaz who even went on Celebrity fit. You probably recall walking into the kitchen when you were a teenager and saw the back end of your mother taking the turkey out of the oven and thought, I'm never going to look like that. Well Wrong -- you too will probably get the junk in the trunk from the Big M...........Menopause and Munching.
Do you recall the song I Can't Stop Loving You (by Ray Charles). Well that's a mature woman's love song to a piece of Cheesecake, and any other number of therapy foods women use to stuff down the anger. Correction, I know some are using Martinis. They actually are the distractors for the disasters. You know the disasters -- I think the husband is cheating, or I'd love to leave his arrogant ass, or to deal with the dysfunctional family members who keep calling you to bail them out of something.
Menopause....the ending of the interest in men because you are starting to look like one. The time of the hormones to hell phase and the dying of the rapid metabolism. You eat an olive before going to bed and your weight skyrocketed 5 lbs and guess what it is all behind you. You go to feel around your back and you discover you are growing the back of a 300 lb. line backer. Your rump, well it ain't Beyonce Fabulous, its more like, right Your Mothers. Bet you're sorry you thought or said those awful things now -- not only did you get a kid just like you but also your mother's back and backside. Welcome to the Menopause Club. And here's another kicker. Your mother was on her feet more than you, had less fast food and stress and got those results. She didn't have a tread mill, remote control, microwave, or an array of drugs and internet crap for her kids and husband to get into.
So lets recap. We know most women don't like to sweat, so don't even go there. Exercising for most women is taking a shower, putting on makeup, etc. Crazy family you can't live without serious therapy food or drinking. And if the chips hit the counter, they hit the hips. You didn't get great genetics and menopause is mean -- need I say more. Want justice -- Go to a school reunion. Scout out the once most popular cheerleader. Today, she looks like Paula Deen - same well made up Merle Norman face, but she's wearing her husband's shirt, with great jewellery for a reason. Why -- she refuses to shop at Penningtons.
So what's left? How do we turn back time and head back into sublime? Well you can't nail jello to a wall, but you can pack it into Lycra, Spandex, or whatever magic materials the civilized world are making for the boobs and the butt. One gal pal told me she even went to a divey motel for a bra fitting seminar and her sister, suspect of the intentions, accompanied her but it was for real. And why did she go, not because she wants to look like some Porn Queen most husband watch, but because she wants to be on top of things, or at least have her things topped up. Apparently this bra fitting seminar was quite an ordeal with suggestions of trying to bring back fat into the cup -- seems impossible to me. Its like your face at amour time. Lay on your back and you are twenty years younger?
By the sounds of this seminar, the prelude to the bra fitting was worse than the Mammogram nightmare but this is really what our beloved movie stars go through. You have no idea what Meryl Streep went through to get those boobie star boobies for Mama Mia. She probably loved the rest in Doubt. Under that Mama Mia blouse was probably more duct tape than on the shelf at Home Depot - the drag queen secrets.
Actually it has been the subject of 100 Oprah Shows, but here it goes again. Cut the crap there is no easy way except putting on your big girl panties, walking into a Bra store and just like you ask for another shot of tequila, Hit Me, well its called Measure Me -- I'm ready. Two little measurements. One around the rib cage and then across the bird cage (yes that's what we will call the two prize peacocks you have ) and presto you have two measurements that will get you from a size 42 DDD into a size 38 K.
Quit screaming K. Cups from A to Z -- Its better than the Sham Woo . If you think about it -- Barbie, the goddess doll of implants and all cosmetic surgery that we played with -- has started a whole new bra industry. You can have the back of a mosquito carrying two giant pineapples and not fall over. When a door closes, God just opens another financial window of opportunity. Life just keeps getting better and better girls. And once menopause hits, you won't need the implants to increase size, just a good bra with cups the size of sand buckets with enough hoisting power to get the gals up to salute the sun.
So cut the crap, the Wii will get as much use as that dusty treadmill -- aren't trends fun -- but a good set of undergarments will get you Red Carpet ready just like the stars. So in unison, All We Want For Xmas is............a customized bra..........
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