I’d kill to make it more minimus, and the VS Uplift Jean could do just that. For sixty-eight dollars the pants promise to shape, firm, and lift, something I didn’t think could be achieved without a tower crane and power-assisted liposuction. I plan to purchase several pair; I just need to decide what style: the Sexy, the Ultra Sexy, or the Hipster. I’m leaning toward the Sexy (hey, you’ve got to walk before you run in your four-inch Steve Madden stilettos), and as far away as humanly possible from the Hipster. I may be foolish enough to want to dress like a twenty-five year old, but at forty-something it’s just tempting fate to wear fashions that practically invite fractures.
Despite my husband’s stance on elective surgery, I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about tummy tucks, body contouring, and boob jobs. I fantasize about being sucked in, pushed up, and slimmed down. Of walking in to a spectacular “spa-maceutical” complex I’ve dreamt up which I call the Center for Surgical Magic and selecting Jessica Simpson’s figure, Sienna Miller’s face, and Kate Hudson’s hair from an a la carte menu of unlimited options. I’d have a quick consultation with the Nip/Tuck dudes, be whisked off to the OR for a complete overhaul, and awaken the world’s hottest woman.
But of course, that’s all just a fantasy. One that would cost me about three hundred grand and my seventeen year marriage. Better to stick with Vicky and the Very Sexy Seamless Collection. Unless I discover its very special ingredient is sticky Saran wrap. It’s no secret how I feel about that stuff.
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