Don't panic. Everyone at the Hoop-lah house is just fine, minus a little sassiness, know-it-all syndrome, and a waiting heart attack from football fan overload. But I digress. This post is about me.
A few weeks ago, before I decided to lose 10 pounds, I thought I'd take an easier route. Gastric bypass maybe? No. Cutting out carbs? No way. A torture device that keeps you from eating because it severely hampers your ability to breathe? Yeah, I think I'll try that.
You guessed it, I bought a pair of Spanx. All the celebs rave about them, but now that I think about it they really have no fat to hold in. So what's the point?
Last night was the first night of card club for the season. What better time to whip out my Spanx and impress the 70+ crowd with my new fabulousness?
The pair I bought went all the way from my butt to my boobs. A little tight, I thought, but it'll loosen up. 15 minutes later I got a little panicky. That tends to happen when you can't breathe. And what was I going to? I'm driving down the freeway, no other underwear in sight.
So sometimes a girl has to make a hard choice. Last night, that meant getting out of the death grip ASAP and going commando. But I'll spare you the details. That's what friends do.