I’m the oldest of 4 girls. We all have some similar features but we are all shaped physically and mentally differently by our choices and life circumstances. My sister Lisa is the older of my 2 middle sisters. We share green-blue eyes, freckles, the complete absence of melanin and our hair color du jour is typically 2-3 strawberry blond shades apart. Yes, the two of us glow on the beach. But that’s where our physical similarities end. We are probably 70 lbs. apart. I’m on the heavier end.

Lisa survives on a couple Triscuits and black coffee every day. At just under 100 lbs. she reads every label in an effort to minimize calories. I, on the other hand, am a full- lead red can Coke drinker, addicted to sugar with a low thyroid problem and Pre diabetic. Yes, I’m working on my health. I could learn a thing or two from Lisa.

Going shopping with this sister can be futile for me. We don’t/cant shop in the same place, unless of course we’re looking for a purse. I doubt Lisa owns anything from Spanx. And I know she’s never gotten stuck in a full control/ full body version like I did. But there I was. How the Hell did I get into this thing anyway?

I managed to get the straps down and push the cups to my waist. Trying to push the thing down over my hips was harder, my thumbs got stuck in the underpants. Standing there, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, thumbs in my crotch. I needed one hand to pull out the other. I jerked my right hand out really hard and my arm ricocheted into the side of the dressing room partition. If my arm didn’t hurt so bad I might think this was funny. Thank God I was the only one in the dressing room. Ok what are my options?

I envisioned my first 2 solutions. I could call in the sales lady, they are always overly helpful. What would she say when she walked in to save me from this contraption? She’d probably throw up her hands and call the fire department or paramedics. They’d haul me out on a gurney and use the jaws of life to free me resulting in applause from the crowd of shoppers who had gathered around to watch me run naked and afraid back to the fitting room to retrieve my clothes . Nope, not doing that. Option number 2 was to flag down my sister Lisa. The thought of this picture being burned into her memory was too much. I could imagine the funeral, she’d tell everyone the story of the day she had to save me from the grips of a full body sausage casing. Nope, it would have to be option number 3.

I removed the price tags from the Spanx with my teeth, shimmied it back into place, put my clothes on, walked up to the register and told the sales lady I loved it so much I was going to wear it home. Lisa was impressed, I was such a good shopper. I told her I needed to hit the road. I got to the car, hardly able to breathe and texted my husband John. I told him I needed help getting out of a bad situation- that’s all I would say. I arrived home, he met me at the back door. I grabbed a pair of my sewing scissors and told him to follow me into the master bathroom. He’s the only person that I trusted to help me through this crisis and not hold it against me. This is LOVE. To this day it’s the funny story we giggle about but tell no one else— until now.

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