It’s no secret how I feel about Victoria’s Secret. When I’m in the store, a forty-five to sixty minute trip from my house so I don’t go too frequently, or curled up with my morning coffee and the brand new sale catalog, I feel a rush of hope so intense you’d think the Capri pant had finally been declared dead. As I prowl the aisles and peruse the pages, my whole being tingles with the sense that anything is possible, that life is beautiful, that tomorrow truly could be a brighter day. Particularly if I buy the Body By Victoria Padded Demi With Secret Embrace Technology today.
Right now for a mere twenty-eight bucks I can get boobs. Something I’ve wanted since my best friend returned from camp with cleavage three days before we started seventh grade. I spent every morning that year stuffing balled up Saran wrap down my starter bra, and every evening massaging Miracle Gro granules into my sweaty chest. Afterwards I’d stand in the shower and pray while, apparently, the fertilizer pooled in my posterior. Thirty years later the real miracle is finding pants that fit my 38DD derriere.
Anyway, this darling bargain demi promises to boost my booty a full cup size without anesthesia and a cosmetic loan from Capital One. That makes my husband happy, particularly since he thinks the five grand I’d like to spend on breast augmentation would be better invested in replacing his knees. So what he can’t get around. At least I’ll look like I do.
Obviously surgery is out of the question and frankly I worry about having something unnatural in my body again (The jury’s still out on the two boobs I’ve already given birth to).
If you’re thinking I’m a shallow, self-involved wife and mother who should learn to see the glass as half full, think again. I’m actually a shallow, self-involved, flat-chested wife and mother who’s sick of seeing her Maidenform half full. Clearly, Victoria’s not the only one with a secret.
To satisfy my quest for breasts I’m buying the adorable demi in Buff, Whisper Pink, and Miami Tan. If it came with Jamie Fox or Colin Farrell from Miami Vice that would be the best, but as we’ve already seen, you can’t ask for miracles. Unless of course it’s the original Miracle Bra. With its removable pads and contoured underwire cups it’s more than manna from Heaven. It’s manna for hooters.
I figure once I’m through purchasing all the turbo charged mammary maximizers Victoria’s Secret stocks and I’m pushed up so far my chest protrudes from my cheekbones, it’ll be time to tackle my aforementioned gluteus maximus. 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.