Glam­our Girl

A makeover is fun for a night, but be­ing ac­cepted just as you are is beau­ti­ful

More of Our Canada - - Content - By Doreen Chalmers, Fairview, Alta.

A com­plete makeover and a night on the town with col­lege friends was great, but com­ing home to her lov­ing hus­band was bet­ter.

My col­lege girl­friends and I meet once a month for lunch, en­deav­our­ing to solve the world’s prob­lems. Af­ter re­ceiv­ing an in­vi­ta­tion to a re­union of our English Lit class’s tenth an­niver­sary, we checked the date and re­al­ized it was only two weeks away! Af­ter much an­i­mated dis­cus­sion, we de­cided to throw cau­tion to the wind and at­tend the gala event.

This called for desperate mea­sures— a com­plete makeover was in or­der. An­gelo’s ritzy spa promised amaz­ing re­sults from the neck up. The rest of me would be con­trolled by the mir­a­cle of a span­dex in­ti­mate un­der­gar­ment that I had re­cently seen in a fash­ion mag­a­zine.

The re­sult of my visit to An­gelo’s proved be­yond fab­u­lous. I was thrilled! Next stop, a bou­tique that spe­cial­ized in the lat­est span­dex in­ti­mate ap­parel— the won­der gar­ment of all time. Upon en­ter­ing the store, I was handed a full-body, seam­less af­fair that in­cluded a push-up bra and a nicely padded der­riere. The dressing room had a three­way slim­ming mir­ror that is de­signed to de­ceive. I stepped one foot then the other into the gar- ment, tug­ging and pulling, but only suc­ceeded in get­ting it thigh-high. I was stuck! As if in an­tic­i­pa­tion of my yelp of dis­tress, a can of baby pow­der pre­sented it­self through the top half of the door. I lib­er­ally dowsed my torso, af­ter which the gar­ment slid up quite eas­ily. Lovely! The three-way mir­ror showed I had lost 20 pounds—not to be fooled, I es­ti­mated it to be more like 15. Thank God for span­dex.

I was now ready to search out a dress. As luck would have it, there was an exclusive dress shop right next door. My the­ory is that these salons are placed in close prox­im­ity for the con­ve­nience of peo­ple like me. I en­tered, glanced about and there it was—the dress of my dreams, right be­fore my very eyes. I tried it on, and mirac­u­lously it fit per­fectly on my span­dexed body. I looked ut­terly amaz­ing.

All too soon, D-day ar­rived. I skipped up­stairs, anx­ious to be­gin don­ning the out­fit. Strappy lit­tle san­dals—a last-minute pur­chase—also stood at the ready. I be­gan by strug­gling into my span­dex, all the while my in­ner or­gans protest­ing against this un­usual pun­ish­ment. It was about then that I spied a tiny tag reading, “Health haz­ard: May be dan­ger­ous if worn daily.” I dis­re­garded that al­to­gether, be­cause this was for one night only.

When I ar­rived at the Royal Re­gency ball­room, I was given a red car­pet wel­come. Ev­ery­one kept say­ing, “Wow! You haven’t changed a bit.” My first se­ri­ous boyfriend asked me to dance— and dance we all did, far into the night. Life was good!

Af­ter­wards, a taxi dropped me off at my doorstep. I was sweaty and itchy all over and I des­per­ately needed to breathe deeply. On swollen feet, I hob­bled to our bed­room, where I quickly stripped off the of­fend­ing gar­ment with a sigh of relief.

I slipped into bed and felt my dar­ling hus­band’s arms around me. I nes­tled close. He may kill me when he sees the credit card bills, but for now, I am thank­ful to be in a place where I am lov­ingly ac­cepted just as I am. ■

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