Breaking in Spanx


I think I broke my pinky finger pulling on my Spanx this morning. What did you say? Oh, I thought you said something. I’ll continue.

Had to drive to Home Depot at 6 am this morning because with temperatures reaching the mid-90’s this week my new flowers need water. A daily dose, or nearly so. Yesterday my water nozzle nearly flattened my budding trophies so this morning I jaunted over to the Depot for a softer spray source (that is called alliteration, illiterates use it often.)

Anyway I had to get fighting ready, so I showered then pulled up my Spanx. What? Huh. I really thought I heard you say something. Nevermind, I will continue.

As I performed what has become my ritualized dependency, my smallest finger (what are you looking at – yes I have a finger that can be called small) snapped back with the force of a jaw about to clamp on to a Crispy Creme. Ow! Ow ow ow! The force of the Spanx is mighty indeed. Spanx don’t mess around and neither do people who wear them. I’d put the determination of a Spanx wearer against the agility of a Jedi knight any day.

So intent was I on providing nourishment for my new buds I withstood searing pain to finish donning my magic pants and head to the garden section of the Depot. Before my journey I also blew out my witchy locks and smeared light foundation on my face to make it appear as if my skin were healthy and young. I think that is what the bottle promised. Anyway. Maybe my dainty. small finger is only sprained. I can bend it and now that I think about it maybe it is really not swollen at all. It just feels swollen from extreme pain. Excuse me. Who is making that guffawing sound?

This afternoon a house showing is scheduled so I need to vacuum upstairs. It’s a sacrifice. Sort of like wearing Spanx.





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