A Day of Rest

After working in the yard and doing taxes, I got up Sunday morning thankful for a day of rest and determined to make it to Sunday School and church.  My friend Juanita is the Sunday School teacher and she had been working on a special lesson.  The church service was going to be a cantata put on by the choir.

After trying on several pairs of pants with no success, I briefly considered the body controllers I wore to Shawn's wedding. No way!  The hem of the top rolled up to my chest and restricted my breathing.  The waistband on the bottom rolled down around my hips and restricted my movement.  Needless to say, my belly popped out like a can of biscuits when you open them.   I looked like a cross between a zombie and Buddha, suffering from oxygen deprivation and shuffling around the Church.  I'll never be that desperate again.

Then I remembered the Spanx I purchased at the Q Store when Michelle and I went to Tennessee.   According to Oprah, they are wonderful.  I took them out of the package and they looked like a pair of newborn baby tights.  I looked at the package and according to the chart, they were my size. The chart telling you what size to get obviously did not take into account the Stalker physique.  We don't exactly carry our weight in our ankles and wrists.

After about 20 minutes of twisting, tugging, squeezing and pulling, they were on my body.  OK, now the test.  Miracle of Miracles, I got into a pair of pants.  My top fit without the usual roll hanging out.  I was deliriously happy but running late.  I didn't have time for breakfast but planned to grab something from the breakfast bar at church.  Just as I was heading out the door it struck me that I need to go to the bathroom.  Somehow once your clothes are on and you have worked up a little sweat the Spanx are ten times as hard to get back where they belong.  I pulled and twisted in the car all the way to church.  I ran by the breakfast bar and grabbed a yogurt but when I got to the classroom, I was the last one there.  I shoved the yogurt in my purse thinking I should have time to eat it before the cantata starts.

I  spent the hour of Sunday School cursing myself for drinking so much coffee. When it ended, I headed straight for the restroom.  Thank God I made it!  All is right with the world. Then it was time to pull them up.  The next twenty minutes in that tiny stall were like an Ultimate Fighting Champion match. (The fights that take place in a cage where anything goes.)  I lost. Spanked by the Spanx. When I finally got them up, I said another little prayer, thanking God that there was no one else in there to hear me cursing.

No time for yogurt, the cantata has started.  My belly growled louder than the soloist but with an upbeat tempo. By the time I got home, the Spanx which were supposed to fit from your knees to your chest were about 2 inches wide but at least I could breathe, so I guess that is some improvement over my previous experience.

When God gave us the same day to rest and worship, Spanx hadn't been invented.

Luci