Chapter Two - Life is a Bowl of Toilets and I Feel Flush - #humor @gingersimpson

Welcome back.  I hope the humor from Chapter One forced you to return for another dose.  Remember, this isn't a few long book, so the chapters are fairly short.  Without further ado, I resume my story.

Ain't No Valley Low Enough - (Remember, I've name the chapters after favorite songs.)

There are just some things I refuse to do anymore--for the sake of appealing to the opposite sex.  I spent too many years encased in heavy-duty spandex panty girdles, so I consider I've paid my dues. AND, I'm not talking just "panty-sized" girdles either--I'm referring to those waist to knee contraptions that chafed the inside of your thighs until they were raw and as an additional prize, gifted you with a painful rash around your waist.

Of course, that was years before panty hose were invented, so you had to hold up your hose with something. Oh, I could have copied my Granny and used thick rubber bands placed right below my knee, but tourniquets have never been my thing.

Sure, I could have gone for the sexy garter belt look, but I didn't have the body to pull it off, and I felt totally out of place at Fredrick's of Hollywood.  So, rather than submit to the humiliation of silent stares or loss of blood flow to my lower extremities, I submitted to discomfort and torture.  Today, I think I get the "secret" behind the girdle.  After you wore it for a whole day, you couldn't stand for your inner legs to come in contact with one another when you walked, so you had kind of a sexy swagger.  Go figure.  The things we did without realizing there is a end benefit somewhere along the line.

 Today, wearing nylons to cover your legs is a fashion faux pas.  It took someone all that time to help those of us with larger thighs stop suffering, but now we have to rely on leg make-up, long pants or simply revealing the lovely blue tinge caused by varicose veins. I view it this way...my body is headed south due to gravity and the map lines on my legs are showing it the way.

 At this point of my life, I'm told the only thing that will help me lose weight is exercise.  Hey, I'm past sixty, so the chances of me getting a gym membership or jogging around the neighborhood are between slim and none.  Besides, just think, if I had become a jogger, I might have been in Boston at the marathon and suffered bodily harm or even death.  Exercise can be dangerous and I prefer not to take the chance.

I always wanted to stop in one of those quaint little fashion stores, but my size has always precluded it.  I was forced to utilize Big Beautiful Woman, Pretty and Plump or Chubby n Chic.  Don't you just love those names?  Might as well hang a sign with a big arrow that says, "Fat Women's Only Option."

Don't get me wrong.  although I would much rather be seen in Petite Sophisticate or not be a freak in Victoria's Secret, I'm thankful someone gave a little style to bigger sizes.  Too bad, they didn't think it through.  Designers took smaller ideas and increased the amount of material to complete their look, but failed to carry the idea through to support.  I hate to beat a dead horse, but why can't someone see that a 32A brassiere and a 40DD should NOT share the same type of strap.  Nor should nightgowns in sizes over XXL have fixed bodices.  Larger boobs don't car if you mark where they're supposed to be, they'll hang wherever they want the moment you set them free.  I have a secret for Victoria...none of your clothes fit me.

I don't know why I worry about aging and size, after all doesn't television promise a cure for every woe?  No more cellulite, wrinkles, or sagging skin.  Yeah right!  Are there really people out there who believe those lies?  I recently viewed an ad for a special cream to cure dimpled thighs.  The endorsing woman was so skinny, she probably didn't have a clue what the cellulite infliction was, but with a convincingly, satisfied grin, she held up a one-ounce tube of the concoction and tried to make the viewing audience believe she'd actually used it.  Get real!  In the first place, one ounce wouldn't handle a portion of one of my thighs, and if it truly worked, they'd be selling the stuff in five-gallon drums.

I also read somewhere that hemorrhoid ointment applied on your face is good for wrinkles.  How this amazing cure was discovered is what stumps me. I've heard of a few who have mistakenly sprayed their hair with room freshener or brushed their teeth with styling gel, but although I sometimes forget which end is up, I can't imagine what beauty product I could confuse with Preparation H.

Okay, so I am a chump on occasion.  I have a cabinet full of lotions, potions and creams and still have pleated lips, sagging jowls and dimples that aren't affect why whether or not I smile.  At the very least, can't someone come up with a solution to make blanket creases disappear before noon?  I think it's a downright shame to have tell-tale signs of sleeping when you've been up for hours.

How sad it is when something as simple as wearing socks becomes another tell-tale sign of age?  If you remove them and can't wear anything but ankle-length pants for hours--face it, you're not a young chick anymore.  I'm lucky I have an OLD rooster who doesn't mind if I have indentions in my calves, but I admit it still bothers me.  I've always wanted thin ankles but not at the cost of compression hose.  It's just not fair.

And age spots?  We all eventually get them.  They turn up overnight.  You'd think everything else that happens to your body is punishment enough, but now you have big brown spots on the backs of your hands and some even on their arms and faces.  When I was under twenty-one, I got carded to buy booze, now that I'm a senior, I should only have to flash the back of my paw and get alcohol and a discount.  Here in Tennessee, they card everyone.  How ridiculous is that.  I've passed twenty-one three times, didn't collect $200.00 or buy Park Place.

Honestly, would I look like I do if all the TV ads were truthful?  If brand X shampoo made my hair shimmer like sunshine and brand X night cream took away all my frown lines, I'd look like Eve Langoria.  If brand X mascara gave me thick, luscious lashes, brand X lipstick gave me fuller, sexy and shining lips in front of the most dazzling smile promised by brand X toothpaste, I could be a model.  Heck, I'd settle for having lips at this point.

What if those eighteen hour bras lifted and separated the way they promise?  What if Oil of Olay reversed the aging process or men flocked to us like perfume ads claim?  I guess false advertising still works because despite knowing better, I always try the new miracle products on the off chance something really works as promised.  I'll bet you have a few products sitting around too.

*****

An old couple sat at their breakfast table one morning.  "Just think, honey."  The old man reaches across and grasps her hand.  "We've been married fifty years today."
She smiles.  "I know and just think, fifty years ago we were eating at this very same table.
The old man nods and broadens his grin.  "We sure were, and probably sitting here as naked as jaybirds."
Granny snickered.  "Well, what do you say?  Should we?"
Their chairs squeal across the tiled floor as they stand and strip to the buff and then take their original seats.
"You know, sweetheart," the senior woman leans across the table, speaking in as sexy a voice as she can conjure.  "My nipples are as hot for you now as they were fifty years ago."  
Grampa's shoulders sag.  "I'm not surprised. One of them is in your coffee cup and the other is in your bowl of oatmeal."