...she shivered with anticipation as she realised that he wasn’t getting ready to play gently in her lady-garden, but that she was about to be punished, with a spanking…

Nah, just kidding.  We aren’t going to be talking about spankings but spanxings.  There isn’t much I won’t do for you RRs (well, maybe except for spankings), so I have done the research, and I’m back here with the report.  Don’t ever say I don’t tackle the big issues for y’all.

It all came about when I was shopping for a new outfit for THAT TALK, and the excellent chicks at Country Road were giving me the big ups, telling me how gorgeous I looked in this outfit, how cute I looked in that, and no, my bum did not look big in the other.  So big were the ups, that it came as quite a shock when I poured my all of my adipose tissue into a saucy little number that my new best friends said I would look so hot in, and they all stood back and said, “Hmmm.”

Looks were exchanged.

I could see there was something that someone needed to tell me, but I had no idea what it could be, when I was looking sooo hot.

At last, amidst nudgings and throat clearing, the speaker was chosen.

“Ummm.  I think you just need the right underwear.”

I craned my neck around (which I will admit made my chin to neck region look very taut and took years off my profile), to see the dreaded VPL.  I was already wearing the ‘right’ underwear.  Seamless.  Flimsy.  In fact, my best no-line knickers were apparently making lines, or more like, those little accent thingies (cedillas?), as they rolled in and out my undulating derriere.

Like this ~~~~~~~~~~

Interesting, but strangely, not really the look I was after.

So what was this mysterious, and so far elusive ‘right underwear’?

“You need Spanx,” by stylish new friends said, “Get thee to Myer immediately.”

And so without further ado, I did as I was bid, and found myself at the mercy of a matronly type who peered at my flabby bits and hanging down blobs, over her spectacles, grabbing here, pinching there.  Not since that fateful day in the gym when the trainer used the callipers on what he euphemistically called my ‘skin folds’ and deemed me to be 33% composed of fat*, had my tuckshop arms, upper thighs, back and muffin-top undergone so many nips.  With many “Hmmmms” and a few “Ahhhhs” she stepped back and had a really long look at me, eyes travelling up and down my body.  I’ve felt more comfortable trying to jump the queue to a nightclub and letting the bouncer cop an eyeful.

“Okay, you need these and maybe this”, she said, handling me some bike shorts and a singlet in that fetching shade of beige reserved for medical apparel.  I held them up.  Yes, definitely medical, in fact, they looked Paediatric size.  “Go on,” the matriarch said, “go and squeeze yourself into them.  Let me know if you need… mumble help.”  I swear she said Vaseline.  I think she was smirking.

I won’t bore you with the hot and sweaty pushing and pulling and stretching and breathing-in details, but it came to pass that I purchased these:

for research purposes…

They cost almost as much as the dress, which still hasn’t been worn, because the very day I was putting it on as quickly as possible to avoid anyone in my house walking in and seeing the horror that is my post-menopausal life, Nathan walked in.  And Nathan saw.

Saw me in all my latex-clad beauty.

He took one look, laughed, and left the room sniggering, but not without saying over his shoulder, “Nice Tour de Noosa shorts.”  I thought a pretty good swear in my head that ends with ‘off’ and thought other vengeful thoughts about how much marital bliss I would penalise him for, for that comment.

And then I looked down and my nude-coloured, shiny, bulging thighs.

I think I might be the one who isn’t getting any.

Have you been Spanxed yet?  What do you think about ‘shapewear’?

*I shit you not, 33 PER CENT!!  What the?  I weigh around 57kgs, and 33% of that is fat.  That’s around 20kgs of FAT.  By the look on the trainer’s face, that is quite a lot.

…From the Ashers xx

It’s been a big week, in that I have spent a fair amount of it procrastinating, so let us hope that is over now.  The whining has been substantial… So you can all stop now okay?  The talk is written.  We also had a really cold day here.  So that was a bit shit.  But we are back to blue skies and a crisp blue horizon again today.  Whew.

Without further ado, here are the hits:

1.  Coco’s hair this morning.  On Thursdays I start work early, so I don’t do her hair for her.  I went into the bathroom and caught her admiring herself this morning.  I wanted to share a pic with you, but for some reason it won’t load (??!).

So let me describe it: headband put on almost diagonally, so that it looked decidedly uncomfortable, one side near the ear the other near the occiput, a “low pony” but not tight enough, so that it was half falling out, with said low pony about eight centimetres left of centre, so that all of her just-past-bob-length hair on the right had fallen out, and, to complete the look, speed humps galore.

Without wanting to be mean (for clearly she thought she looked schweeet) I said “Oh Sweetie, did you do your own hair?”  (“Or did the cat do it?” I was thinking).  “No, Daddy did it.  Isn’t it great?”  “Yes”, I said, it’s great, now sit here and let me enhance it.”

I suspect Nathan is quite good at, um, carpenting things.

2.  These things:

Does it count if you’re melting them in your mouth?

I purchased them accidentally this week (I meant to get the dark choc version), and we all know that is it illegal to let something as sweet and innocent as this go to waste.  So I’m eating them. All.  They are going down very easily, even if my throat does have a sugar burn right now.  I Quit Sugar?  It seems the answer is no.  I blame Cadbury- the packaging is very similar to the ones I wanted…  Touche chocolate manufacturer and marketing team, touché.  (Yes, yes, I know Cadbury is bad chocolate. I know I should be eating cacao nibs or something, but I just can’t resist that velveteen purple sheen.)

3.  I’ve mentioned to you before how much I love the internets, and the kind people you come across on here, yes?

Well check this out:  Last week I read  this article in Kidspot by Lana Hirschowitz regarding a robotic toy called Sphero.  As “I know” Lana via Twitter, I sent her a message asking her if she had a Sphero, and if she thought it was as good as the excellent advertising campaign suggests.  Turns out she had a Sphero her kid didn’t want, and offered to send it to me for the Evil Geniuses.

For free.

I said I would buy it from her, and at least pay the postage, but she was having none of it.  Don’t you just think that’s amazing?  Lana doesn’t know me, or the brats, and yet, she went out of her way to go to the post office, pay to send it, etcetera, etcetera.  The kindness of strangers.

Here are the geniuses receiving it on Jammie Day:

Look at them: Liam is chuffed and is IN NO WAY sharing that thing with Coco, who is more interested in posing for the ‘receiving a package’ shot.

And here is Sphero.  His name is Charles.

Charles. The Sphero. He is a ball. Bloody hell, now I’m even personifying him.

4.  Now, I may have mentioned one or two a thousand times that I am giving a speech at a seminar this Saturday, so I required an outfit befitting my professionalism and maturity.  So of course, last Sunday I was to be found at Country Road, Maroochydore.  I’ve gotta tell you: OH MY GOD.  I had the most amazing, personalised, funny, attentive service in the known world.  I can’t remember if I’ve told you about the chicks in our local CR before, so if I have please skip ahead, for I shall be rhapsodising.

When you get to my age you can sometimes become a little invisible in shops.  Youngies don’t want to serve you, and real Oldies are more interested in straightening shelves.  Not this lot.  It was like I had a personal shopping team.  They were bringing me in things to try, gushing and complementing, and then bringing more.  They were placing jackets and scarves on me as though they were the Queen’s robes, then scuttling off to find more accoutrements.

They even gave advice on appropriate undergarments (of which I share with you next week, but for now I have one word: contraceptive), as we shared anecdotes of The Menopause and the best skincare required to combat the dreaded desert derriere.

Needless to say, I exited with the Motherlode of white bags.  Well played CR, well played.

5.  Nathan.

As I type this he is applying the heat gun (Who knew there was such a thing? I was using a travel-sized hairdryer) to some particularly ugly photo frames to remove 130 small mirror tiles that I NEED for my talk on the weekend.  You see, I decided yesterday that I simply must have mirrors.  One hundred and thirty of them.  And no shop in Noosa had any more than eight.

And then I found these, googled “removing mirrors” and found that it would be a cinch.  It isn’t.  And yet, HOTY is doing it.  At 10pm.  Nathan, the chiropractic profession is lucky to have you.  (Especially as I left it so late that I missed the  Audio Visual cutoff time for the presentation, and I do need some kind of gimmick….)

So there you have it, the HITS as I see them.  Wish me luck on Saturday, I’ll be the one vomiting with nerves in the dunnies at 3pm and trying to do a panic wee whilst wearing Spanx (Doh!  I gave the underwear post away).

What are your hits?  C’mon, gimme one at least.

…From The Ashers xx

Here’s the hits…

1.  Anticipation of All Things ANZAC.  I don’t know about you, but I find this a very emotional day.  I can easily find myself crying, watching the march: the soldiers in years gone by, and now the children, who march to uphold the tradition pass me by.  Everything from the eerie first bars of the bugle, to the remembrance, to the gratitude of a day off filled with sunshine, and ANZAC biscuits and meat pies and a gutsy and traditional match of footy.  More than Australia Day, which for me has morphed into something strange over the years, ANZAC Day is one of appreciation and a strange mix of celebration of the life we have mixed with indebtedness to those who went before us.

2.  These books:

They might be for kids, but they make me cry every.single.time.

3.  SYTYCD.  I don’t care, say what you want about the show: criticise Carrie’s hair and Paula’s dress sense if you like, but these dancers are bloody awesome. I know, I know, you’re probably thinking that I’m awesome myself, what with my Solid Gold Dancer moves from the 80s, and my white man’s overbite, mixed with a good bit of Salt n Pepper’s ‘Push It’ style, but I got nuthin’ on these guys.

4.  These super-cute CR boots that the generous E.Bunny bought for Coco in lieu of choccies.

They might be kinda up there in the price stakes I guess, but if you have a kid who simply won’t wear jeans in winter, they are a pretty cool option to pair with skirts, leggings and the like.  In fact, they will probably save us a fortune this Winter, as her Summer clothes can be worn with these and a cardi, for the pissy little 2 month Queensland cold snap we have here.  Well played Easter Bunny, you fashionista.

5.  Cadbury Chocolate Caramel Eggs.  That is all.

Hit me with your hits.. What did you love this week?

…From The Ashers xx