Sometimes, You Just Feel Like A Sausage

Today I knew I had to spend a few hours putting in apps and following up on any job leads I heard rumors of, so I actually put some effort into getting myself together and trying to look good. Rarely happens, so it was a real confidence booster.

I even dug out this tank top I bought forever ago that is one of those fat-sucker-inner things that swears it will make me look skinnier…boy, did those advertisements lie. First, I nearly dislocated my shoulder just trying to get it pulled down over my boobs. So I thought, oh, this is totally gonna work! Because if it didn’t even want to expand that much, surely my squishy muffin top will be no match. And yep, my jeans sure did slide on easier. Awesome! I was all set to go and out the door I went.

The first few stops did go well, even if I couldn’t take a deep breath or bend in any way.

After that, things went south.

Literally. The tank top started sliding downward. Suddenly I had so much cleavage popping out from my sweater I probably could have made a hooker do a double take. I struggled to tug it back up and I’m pretty sure I wound up looking like I was slapping my chest around in the tractor supply store parking lot. And I really hope no one saw that.

Then the bottom started slowly creeping upward. There was no way I could pull it back into place without undoing my pants, and I was already giving enough of a show with the cleavage problem. It was time to pick up my oldest from school anyways, so I could deal with it for another hour while I met with her teacher for a parent-teacher conference.

Unfortunately, as soon as I sat down in the tiny chair made for small children, the bottom of the tank top flew up like it was some kind of belly window shade and I felt like a sausage that had broken through its casing. I could barely even concentrate on what the teacher was saying. I was sitting there ramrod straight and praying that only the tank top had flown up and not my sweater too. Sitting there barely speaking with my flab airing out is not the impression I wanted to give to this very important adult in my child’s life, you know?

For once, I was lucky. The sweater held its ground while the tank top fought an epic battle to see how flat it could make my poor lady lumps.
I’m pretty sure that tank top should recall the advertisements already out and change it to “Mammogram in clothing form!”

The tank top is now living the rest of its short life from the bottom of a trash can.


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