There are many requirements that come along with being a twenty-something female living in NYC. At least once a month, you have to get the overwhelming need for a “culture” day: “Ugh, I feel so small town right now. Let’s go to the Met and get some culture!” Additionally, you need to regularly bitch about how Starbucks spells your name incorrectly: “These effing baristas…how do they not know how to spell ‘Heather’? I’m never coming here again.” Perhaps most importantly of all, however, you need to develop an unnatural, unwavering obsession with brunch. Brunch becomes not only the cornerstone activity of your Sunday, but the main conversation topic on Saturday night and the primary thing you start looking forward by Friday afternoon. Brunch controls all, and that’s probably why the most important conversations of my twenty-something life have happened over half-eaten pancakes and bottomless mimosas.
Somewhat predictably, I found myself in this exact position just yesterday. My girlfriends and I convened at our regular place, a trendy downtown diner, and hunkered into a booth ready to dissect our latest dilemmas. Of course there were the usual quandaries — the guys who aren’t texting, the killer internships we’re not getting, the absolute hopelessness of it all!! — but then one of my dearest BFFs spoke up with something we hadn’t talked about before.
“Guys,” she said somewhat conspiratorially, “So I had a presentation for class last week and wore this really cute business casual outfit. I ate my weight in chips and guac the night before, so I decided to throw on some SPANX under my pencil skirt to help me feel a little less bloated. You know how it goes. Anyway, afterwards I grabbed a drink with that guy I’ve been talking to and, well, one thing led to another. I went back to his place, and it was pretty clear that sex would be happening. But the SPANX…I still had the SPANX on and couldn’t figure out how to take them off without him seeing. So I acted like I didn’t feel well, and just left. Am I being weird? I just feel like guys are never ready to see you in SPANX. That’s crazy embarrassing. What do you think?”
I have to admit to you all here, just as I did to my BFF — I don’t think I could ever show a guy my SPANX. I’m sorry. That’s just not a secret I want made public. It’s not like I wear the things regularly, but if I’m going to a wedding or on an especially nice date, I have been known to don the nude colored uglies in an attempt to suck in my less toned bits.
Do you think the average college guy even knows what SPANX are? Ew, imagine making out and suddenly your partner goes for the gold and it’s this horrible twist ending after he puts his hand up your dress. Surprise! I wear fat sucker inners that take at least 5 minutes and years of practice to wiggle out of — you’re not getting these off of me any time soon. Sorry, babe, the mood is officially killed.
I want to open up my brunch convo to you, dear readers. Do you wear SPANX on dates? How do you distract your man while tactfully taking them off? And then where do you even hide them? Your clutch? Maybe it’s a non-issue that I’ve blown entirely out of proportion and it turns out no one even cares about SPANX. You tell me!