INSULT AND INJURY

I cannot believe that The Holiday is nearly here.  This year it has snuck up on me, and I have heard many say that they feel the same way.  I am not ready, in many senses of the word.  Several factors contribute to my lack of preparation and enthusiasm.  Let me elaborate.

The other day Girl8 and I were preparing for our annual attendance at the Nutcracker.  We always enjoy dressing up, and there is something about going to the ballet that makes us feel quite worldly.  As we were going to my mom's for dinner, we wanted to take our clothes and change after eating so as not to soil our fancy duds.  I told Girl8 to get her dress ready, figure out what shoes to wear, and we duked it out over the fleece-lined tights (she didn't wear them, I won't tell you who won the argument).  Then I pulled numerous outfits out of the closet, trying each one on in front of the critical eye of Girl8, who was assuring me that she knows fashion.   I reminded her that I do not have a desire to be dressed like a stylish 8-year old.  Girl8 nixed several of my outfits with valid reasons ("are those pants on backwards?" being one of them).  Finally we settled on some pieces that went well together.  We packed our bags.  I was saying all of the standard maternal figure lines, including "go to the bathroom before we leave", "did you pack your shoes?", "don't forget to bring your piano books!", and "put on your coat - it is Winter!" while loading myself with a bag of salad fixins, keys, and several electronic devices.  Fast forward to after dinner.  Girl8 transformed herself by donning her fancy dress and shiny Mary Janes.  I was looking forward to putting on my skirt and sweater and completing the stylish and hip mother-daughter unit.  AARGH!  I had left my bag at home.  I had to wear my coat buttoned all the way up to my neck to cover up my jeans and T-shirts.  Yes, plural.  Trust me when I tell you that I will be well dressed in public from now on.  Girl8 will not allow me out otherwise.

The next day, we were rushing home between school and music lessons.  Although the garage was dimly lit, I spotted a pencil on the floor.  I bent down to pick it up and nearly poked my eye out with the Shop Vac crevice attachment that was sticking straight up out of the canister.  As it is, I still may end up with a black eye.  Needless to say, there was some disgruntled shouting heard in the garage.

Another unusual injury I have recently suffered is what my students have coined "whip-thumb".  If you are familiar with wooden stacking dolls, you know that you twist one open and a smaller one is inside.  Twist that one open and you find another smaller one, and so on.  We have a set of stacking snowmen. The smallest doll is a penguin.  Girl8 was playing with them one day.  She couldn't open them, so I gave it a shot.  Think about yarfing on a jar of pickles.  I gave that snowman doll my all, and in the process hurt both of my thumbs.  My left thumb healed quickly, but my right thumb is swollen and no longer opposable.  I have been wearing a "thumb brace", which, as you can imagine, attracts a bit of attention.  I will be telling people that I had a parachute accident, as nobody wants to hear about a Matryoshka doll incident.

Dear Reader, I know you now understand why I cannot yet wrap presents - my eye patch and thumb brace are bigger impediments than I expected.  I am hoping that my holiday mojo returns soon and I can resume my preparations with both eyes and all ten fingers.

GET FIT!

If you are blessed with two X chromosomes and are over the age of, let's just say 30 years, chances are that you have had the experience of getting fitted for a supportive undergarment.  More than likely, it's an experience that you were hoping to forget.  It's not something that would generally be brought up at the water cooler at work, or even at the lunch table (please see This Is Not Table Talk).

It was Oprah who shouted from the rooftops of NBC that most of the women in America were not wearing the correct foundation garment size.  Alarmed women everywhere rushed to the nearest department store and surrendered to the Fitting Specialists.  For good reason, as it turns out, as wearing ill-fitting shape wear can be detrimental to one's posture, wreck one's back, make one look bigger (in a negative way), and even deform one's bosom.  I don't need to mention how unattractive it can make one look and feel to be sagging down with no support whatsoever.

With that said, one should be happy to be fitted and learn the correct way to measure for a proper fit.  It doesn't seem to work out that way.  The actual measuring is the least humiliating bit of the ordeal.  Once one is alone in the fitting room, it can be similar to being a prisoner, at the mercy of the Professional Fitter.  The Professional returns with an assortment of brassieres for the prisoner to try on.  The Professional leaves with the promise of returning soon.  The prisoner wrangles on an undergarment.  Part of the problem is that prisoners have not been suitably trained in what Ill Fitting means and what a Proper Fit looks like.  The prisoners don't know why it puckers here, pinches there, pokes out, or digs in.  The prisoner waits expectantly for the Professional to return to the dressing room and answer questions regarding the puckers, pinches and pokes.  Meanwhile, the prisoner is stuck in the fitting room staring at her half-dressed self in the mirror.  Often times this is not something that the prisoner wants to be looking at.  There are probably very few women over the age of 30 who look good under fluorescent lights, wearing only an improperly fitting undergarment and pants.  Nobody should have to look at that.

After knocking and gaining entry, the Professional takes an appraising glance at the prisoner.   Her diagnosis is peppered with vocabulary such as Demi Cup, Back Smoothing, Bridge, Wireless, Minimizing, Figure Enhancing, Push Up, Posture Improving, Padded, Convertible, Racerback... it can be overwhelming to the prisoner. The Professional assures the prisoner that she will return shortly. The prisoner faces a dilemma:  disrobe and wait around half naked, or wait in the ill-fitting gear?  Either way, she is still trapped in the little room with the big mirror.  The Professional never returns promptly.  This process has the potential to continue for quite a while, depending upon the prisoner's patience and the number of prisoners being attended by the Professional.

All of this torture is worth it, however, when the prisoner is paroled and walks out of the store with a bag full of properly fitting garments.  These garments promise to lift, shape, enhance, minimize, and support.  They can make a person look slimmer, seem more youthful, appear taller, and run faster, not to mention cook better.  Surely, all of these positive outcomes outweigh the negatives, so dash out there and get fit!