The Secret

Oh good.
Oh thank goodness.
Oh there is a heaven-on-earth.


My catalog (including a coupon for free undies)--finally
came in the mail
. . . from Victoria's Secret.

I nearly choked on my Twinkie!
When I say I have nooo idea how I got on their mailing list . .
I mean to tell you I have no idea!


They could not have gotten their demographics more wrong including me in their follies, than if I'd gotten a surprise mag subscription from Hairless Cat monthly.

That's not to say I don't wish Victoria and I were a perfect fit. Believe me, I do! ( . . and possibly Hubby too?) ---- but what can I say? Victoria and I go together like pickles and chocolate bars. Like Michael Jackson and grown men. Like mirrors and New Year's morning.

Someone in their office heard I was ready for my close-up (I guess), but they couldn't be further from the truth. This morning I exercised for the first time since my surgeries . . and all I did was stretch my back over a rolled-up towel while I took deep breathes. Not exactly Buns-of-Steel level.

I did order something from Victoria once, years ago.
It was an over-sized FlashDance style, sweatshirt. Super mod, yes, --but also super roomy.
(It was immediately discontinued.)


Maybe, maybe, I've lost 10 pounds since my notorious diet-start date (see blog 1/6/09) ---but that ain't saying much. And don't forget that gruesome cellulite tattoo so recently spoken of? How would that look poking out under a puny Victoria Secret strip of fabric?
----Wait,
--I take that question back (--because I don't need anybody trying to conjure up a mental picture of me in said strip . . . )


Let's just say . . . when the models in Victoria's catalog turn sideways, they disappear (well, all except for their yoo-hoos) . . . and there is no way I can compete.
When I turn sideways, I resemble a tank ---with yoo-hoos, woo-hoos, and boo-hoos galore.




Years ago, I used to get JC Penny's catalog regularly.
Once, I threw the mail in the car with my kids, and we hit the road on errands. My oldest son, maybe 4 or 5 at the time, picked up the catalog and started flipping through it--I'm sure looking for Power Ranger undaroos or Matchbox cars--
---Instead, through the rear view mirror, I noticed him silently thumbing through the pages of woman's undergarments. I wondered when to step-in, or what to say --- But he said it all when he finished, passed the catalog onto the younger bro sitting next to him, and informed him this page-turner, "wasn't that bad, --once you got used to it."


What the heck could a mother add to that??
Ah. My little men.


Maybe I'd do good to take the same advice when unsolicited top-heavy anorexic undie reading comes my way -- and tell myself it's not that bad, once used to it.


Nah. It's bad.
At least for anyone with eternally developing self-esteem, like me.

And if Hubby can wear "comfortable" high school era t-shirts every date night for the rest of our existence (which seems to be his plan) . . . I don't have to feel self-pressure to squeeze into Victoria Secret's demanding sizes. How the heck do you squeeze a normal number into a zero anyway??


From now on I'll just go eco on Victoria's butt immediately, and recycle her.
If our friendship ever changes - you'll be the first to know.
---Right after I've shouted it off of rooftops.