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Friday, May 27, 2011

Fertile Myrtle Wears a Girdle

I wrote this piece a few years ago- just one humorous example of a day in the life of being,  Angela...

Fertile Myrtle Wears a Girdle

Who ever would have dreamed that the string bean that stood 58 tall and weighed 105 pounds would eventually need a binding torturous apparatus commonly known as the jiggly fat binder, or girdle? The advertisements rave about this contraptions ability to instantly shed ten pounds off of your physique. Sheds is not the appropriate word—force the fat into your core so that it squashes into the gaps of your intestines is the appropriate descriptionbut who would buy it if they used that as the selling point?

Anyway, three kids by the age of twenty-two did not diminish my figure, nor did a devastating divorce and depression. Honestly, I dont know what the hell happened, but I do know that this twig turned into a log slowly over time and I am resisting going to a carver to get it back to a slender but curvier me.
 
After a couple of weeks of dieting and a new gym membership, I was noticing my clothes fitting a little better. I was not satisfied with the loose-fitting clothes, NO, the pants in the back of the closet those called my name. You know the ones: the skinny pants or jeans, the fantasy size. Yeah, those. All women at one point in life have those magical pants in their closets. Maybe, just maybe, they will fit...I will try, up past my thighs good so far, over my expanding ass andWait, theyre on. I can zip them but they still look too tight. Then comes to mind the instant skinny, fat-binding contraption. I battle the indecisionIs it worth the pain to wear them? H-m-m-m, they are nice pants, and I look so good in them. Yeah, the girdle will allow me to wear the magical pants, and I can be glamorously beautiful for the day.

Oh, I look good! The magical pants, these classy red boots and a stylish red top...Oh, the men are turning their heads and the women are even complimenting my look. I am walking tall and my head is held so high the oxygen is thin. The strut of my walk says it all. But the girdle is so worth the tightening pain, and besides, the pain is easing due to my circulation being cut off around my hips.

One thing about being a teacher is that you have little to no time to use the restroom, and when you do get the chance you usually run for it. Now, imagine my ever-expanding bladder being pushed in by the girdle, a pair of hose and, for good measure, a sexy pair of panties. (I had to wear sexy panties to not feel like a grandma in the girdle; the hose, wellit is winter.) So Im speeding down the hall in a fast strut, nodding, Yes, thank you and Oh, I like these pants too, thanks, all the while trying to absorb the compliments but knowing I have to get into the restroomfast.

The teachers lounge is in sight, and thank goodness there is a stall available in the bathroom. Pull down the magical pants, pull down the girdle and the hose and Ah! Ah! Ah! between the shocking waves of pinching pain and great release of the bladder, I am now so happy to be peeing. Ah, but still the magical pants are worth peeling back several layers of clothing. Wait...the pants, the girdle, and then the Oh my gosh the hose but not the panties! How did I forget to remove the panties? I peed through the panties! What the hell? What am I going to do? I have one more class to teach! I cant keep on urine-soaked panties!

This stall is tiny, my elbows hold up each wall and my face is pressed into the stall door. How can I get my boots, the hose, the girdle and the pants off to remove my sexy, red, urine-soaked satin diaper? How? I have two minutes (at the most) before my students return to the room. I can never get those things off and then squeeze back in before the bellthe ominous bell.

Then it hits me. Problem solvedor more like a manic solution rages through my brain.

I start to yank and tear at the pantiesdamn it, they are expensive, but these babies have to come off. I try to tear at them, stretching them across my legs. No luck; they are only stretched out. H-m-m-m. If I step on them then pull, it may tear them apart. So I am sitting on the pot, girdle, hose and pants around my ankles. I pull the panties down, step on them and rise up, pulling on the red elastic band.

Stretch, grunt, stretchmore pullingpullingand ah, the right side tears. Now the other leg. Once again, under my boot stretching my underpants, I try to make sure no urine rubs on my magical pants, which no longer seem all that magical. Im stretching sideways in a cramped stall when the damn waistband finally gives way completely.

The panties are torn in half and now I can finally get out of there. Then a small quandary arises: Do I hide the panties and throw them away at home or leave them in the stall trash? 

I leave them in the stall trash.

I always wondered what someone thought when seeing a shredded pair of red sexy panties in the trash of the teachers lounge bathroom.
 
Needless to say, the not so magical pants are in the back of the closet. I wont wear them again until I can do so without the girdle. Its just another example of getting older and trying like hell to look like the twentysomething who used to turn heads.

(c) Angela Mills 2009

2 comments:

  1. Haha! Great story. I would have loved to see the look on the janitor's face!

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  2. Hilarious! I've done it, too. I was just getting to know my future husband and we went for a bike ride. Girdle on a bike ride not only makes it hard to breathe, but it pinches your skin at the top of your thighs. Bad news. I had to use the -facilities- or "bushes" as we call them in the wild and forgot to turn down the panties. Oops. I left them in the woods and he actually asked me, "Are you OK?" because I was taking so long.

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