July 7, 2006
Along For The Ride




The new Victoria's Secret catalog arrived in the mail this week.

Ordinarily it goes directly into the trash, along with the mortgage refinance offers and the carpet-cleaning ads and the two-for-one pizza coupons.  I'm only on the mailing list because I bought Daughter #1 a pair of pajamas from their online store, a Christmas or two back: I would never have subscribed to it for myself.  "There is nothing in this catalog for me," I tell David every month, as I toss it into the recycling bin.  The handful of occasions when I've actually glanced through the catalog before tossing it have always been disheartening: nothing but page after page of improbably tiny bras and panties and vaguely sinister underthings  ... little more than slivers of fabric and lace, most of them  ... all sized to proportions that haven't been personally relevant since the Carter Administration.

I am a 40DDD living in a Wonder Bra World.

It isn't just the Victoria's Secret catalog, either.  There is an entire universe of women's clothing that has been off-limits to me for nearly three decades: sweaters that stop short of the hipbone  ...  blouses that button down the front  ...  T-shirts that pucker and crease across the bustline.  I've had to avoid anything sleeveless or strapless or double-breasted or form-fitting or cut too low in the front. Pastel colors are out.  So is white.  So are patterns, especially stripes.  So is anything even vaguely transparent. And don't even get me started on bike-riding clothes: even the most extra-extra-EXTRA-jumbo cycling jersey makes me look like a couple of Wilson Sure-Shots, stuffed inside a tube sock.   Work clothes are a separate slice of hell unto themselves.  For the past several years, my standard "work uniform" in the office have been those little short-sleeved blouses that button in the back: functional, inexpensive, comfortable  ...  and seriously  Great-Great-Aunt-Edna-like.  

But all of that is about to change.  

In less than a month  ...  in twenty-seven days, eighteen hours, eleven minutes and forty-two seconds, as a matter of fact (but who's counting?)  ...  I am finally going to be having the surgery that will change my life  --  AND my wardrobe  --  forever. It's been a long time coming.  Longtime readers know that there have been a lot of stops and starts, along the way.  (Who can ever forget the mental image of my husband, hyperventilating on the floor of the plastic surgeon's office?)  But finally, all of the variables are in place  --  my health, my finances, my support system, my vacation time, my seventh red/blue planet aligned horizontally with the moon in Goddess Taschus  -- and the date is set.  On August 4th, 2006,  I am leaving the 40DDD world behind me, once and forever.

And I'm taking you  --  and that Victoria's Secret catalog  --  along for the ride.  

Stay tuned.




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