As a kid, I used to make fun of my aunts and mom for wearing what they called “their girdles”. I would put them on and run around in them. Such a free, innocent child. Not realizing that two kids and a lifetime of pizza would catch up to me. I’m sure my mom and aunts were smug in their understanding of the retribution I had coming, and that’s why they could silently smile as I acted like a little shit.
If you see me in public you might think, “oh there’s a normal looking human being”. I thank you for smooth compliment. So flattering. What you’re not aware of, is that under my normal, shitty clothes I’ve got this very elaborate system of pulleys and succession of girdles, either sucking in or pulling things back into places they used to live…or should have been living. I may give off the impression of a normal female human when I’m actually a giant wad of gum and cellulite.
Basically anything hidden from sight is inside this intricate web of deception. It’s pretty convenient, albeit uncomfortable, but walking and sitting are totally overrated. I mean, sometimes I can just mold myself a whole new shape entirely. I still haven’t quite figured out attractive yet, but when I do, man that’s gonna be something.
It’s probably because they haven’t managed to make cankle girdles. I’d wear that so hard. I don’t have cankles yet, but I can just feel them just waiting under the surface, wanting to pop out. I’ll probably wake up one morning not worrying about cankles, and POOF!
Cankles as far as the eye can see.
Can you even exercise your ankles to make them skinnier? Is that a thing? It’s probably not. I’ll have to start wearing those sensible shoes that only come in three colors: brown, white, or black and house shoes everywhere since my cankles will be too big to fit in regular shoes. Some of the cankle mass always seems to go down to your foot and make it super fat. There’ll I’ll be with giant cankles and obese feet. God, knowing my luck I’ll be the one woman with cankles that can’t wear actual shoes anymore. I’ll have to make my own out of cardboard, rubber, duct tape, and sadness. I could open an Etsy shop, and cater exclusively to cankle clientele. I’d call them cankle clogs.
I’d be so rich, and also sad because of my cankles,
but the money would make it better.
If I’m lucky my husband’s eyesight will get really bad by that time, and he won’t realize his wife is wearing a duct tape mess on her feet. I can only hope.