I’d like to say a few words about…double stick tape.
I went through a period in the mid nineties of dressing, well, like a tramp. All thigh-high slits and escaping tits.
Hence, double stick tape became my indispensable wingman.
You see, the pendulum had swung ALLLLLL the way to the other extreme.
It had followed my monk phase. The five years or so where I denied my ample bosom. Previous to that I was somehow blissfully oblivious.
During this phase my boobs, seeming as big as my head, felt too large for my frame, getting in the way of my arms, hiding my feet, changing the channel on the remote if I sneezed — so I basically bound them.
Figures, right?
Everyone wants tits except the ones who have them. Let me just say right here, they are a huge responsibility and most people don’t realize the implications.
Mine were “real and they were spectacular” to quote the famous Seinfeld episode. Unlike me, my breasts actually received a thank you note in the mail for their spectacularness. No kidding.
But they were wasted on me. Until I learned to embrace my bussomy-ness. Hey listen, when your boobs get mail it makes you pay attention.
So this could either be a “the grass is always greener” story or “appreciate the gifts you’re given” tome.
Instead it’s an homage to double stick tape. The disasters it keeps from happening and the secrets it keeps hidden.
But what exactly IS the deal with double stick tape?
The application is tricky at best and an amateur hour shit-fest at worst.
Kind of like false eyelashes, which I have also mastered.
Here’s the thing: it’s all an illusion.
Kind of like Spanx.
Double stick tape;
false eyelashes;
and Spanx.
Ladies and Gentleman, it’s astounding! It’s confounding! Watch and see if you can figure out just how she does it!
My waaaay-too-short skirt and cleavage down-to-there are masterfully taped so as to only imply indecency; they keep all my bits in place yet they tease and taunt you into thinking you just may see…something…
The eyelashes; if you take the time to learn how to apply them (it took me weeks — everyday) look like you have a lifetime supply of Latisse and you spend an hour and a half in a magnifying mirror getting your fifteen coats of mascara just right. Who’s got that kind of time?
VPL? Visible pantie lines? Not his girl.
No thigh jiggle, no belly wiggle, and no deep breaths. Oxygen deprived. For a decade. Ahhhhh…how I hate you — fucking Spanx.
It looks from the outside like it’s all a walking work of perfection. And there’s the story.
Nothing ever is. Perfect that is.
If the tape lifts, the lashes peel or the Spanx fail — the jig is up.
Just know that the next time you observe “perfection”. It’s a labor intensive magic trick.
Post Script: The other day I used the last of my double stick tape to anchor the corner of a rug. My how times have changed.
Carry on,
xox
