Buon Giorno, Big Butt!

That's what my husband said to this me this morning when he saw me heaving myself out of bed. Okay, not really. He'd be dead right now if he did that. He wasn't even in the room when I rolled slowly out of bed, springs protesting mightily. Directly to the right of the bed is a full-length mirror. (You may remember that mirror from my awesome drawing in the post "What Muffin Top, Damnit?")

Having been permanently scarred by the Muffin Top Incident, I studiously avoid looking in that direction. The bathroom, naturally, is my first stop, where I am forced to shield my eyes from the massive mirror that takes up the top half the wall. (Who decided a bathroom that is half-mirror was a good idea? Clearly, some horrible person who wakes up looking lovely with no makeup, has fresh breath, and sleeps in an adorable nightie that showcases a fab set of gams.)

There IS one place you cannot avoid looking in a mirror: the dressing room of a store. (Well, I suppose you can, but that would be rather silly if you're going to pay good money for clothes.) This morning, I trotted out to the mall to buy some clothes. Specifically, I was seeking to trade in my frump-about-town look with a few posh yet casual, alluring but not slutty, pieces. I felt rather excited. I hadn't been clothes shopping in quite a while, and as we're planning a trip to Italy, I decided my high-waisted, ill-fitting capri jeans surely would scream AMERICAN TOURIST IN HIDEOUSLY OUTDATED ATTIRE and I'd be surrounded by those massive gangs of children who are lurking all over Europe waiting to prey on unwitting foreigners. I needed to get items that would allow me to blend in with the locals. Never mind that I don't speak Italian and will be clutching a phrase book and map, while my husband wrestles the camera out of its case to take pictures every 5 minutes. If anyone bothers to look at our clothes, we'll be the picture of European chic. I know, because I stopped in H&M straightaway.

For those not in the know, H&M is a super-cool European store with tons of clothes at inexpensive prices. (At least, it was when my friend from Spain was here...several years ago.) In fact, it has its own Wikipedia entry: "H&M is a Swedish multinational retail-clothing company, known for its fast-fashion clothing for men, women, teenagers and children." Yes, friends, yours truly is now the owner of FAST FASHION. That means straight off the runway. See if I don't get a modeling contract while I'm overseas. 

But I'm getting ahead of myself. The mirror. I was talking about the mirror. Ah, crap, so much for the modeling contract fantasy. Back to reality. I strolled into H&M, determined to not let the 20-year-old salesperson slouching near the entrance intimidate me. I gave him a curt, European-looking nod, and casually rifled through a rack of tops, trying to not make it obvious that I was checking prices. I was pleased to note several other women in the store who were even older than I am (and no, they weren't accompanying their teenage daughters). 

It took a little digging: the first few displays featured items that were a bit too, er, exciting for a woman of my advanced years. Think fringe, faux leather, and extremely short shorts. I pushed on, determined that I would find something, anything, and then I struck gold. Here's a secret: they hide the older-lady garments in the back! I began snatching items from shelves and off hangers and into my arms, which were soon full. Slouchy Salesperson didn't offer to help, so I staggered into the dressing room with far more than the 7 Items Per Customer allotment. I hurried out of my embarrassing non-H&M outfit and into the first pair of pants. They were...a bit snug. Damn European sizes. I threw on my embarrassing non-H&M outfit and raced back into the store, grabbing some larger pairs of the same pants. I was horrified to discover that the pair two sizes up fit (TWO SIZES?). Damn European sizing. Everyone knows it's all off. No matter. They were cute and, combined with some fast-fashion baggy tops, I was looking molto bene. 

After hastening back into the embarrassing non-H&M outfit I'd worn into the store, I made a grievous mistake. I glanced in the mirror. Blast! Damn dressing room lighting. Everyone knows it's designed to make you look ghastly. The skirt, in particular, in the harsh overhead light, was showcasing some dimples and crevices I thought, you know, that CLOTHES WOULD COVER PROPERLY. Damn skirt. I knew what I needed, STAT, and the mall was the right place to get it: Spanx. My God, I've heard of these wonders but I had no idea how fantastic they are. In essence, they are skintight underwear that squash into oblivion about 47 bumpy spots on the hips, thighs, bottom, stomach...in other words, they make you look as if you are toned and fit without the hassle of actually working out. I fell instantly in love. Unfortunately, the effect is temporary. When I wrestled out of the Spanx, my thighs actually made a cartoon "Sproing!" noise as they resumed their former shape. 

Nevertheless, I am buoyed by this miracle of modern science. Watch out, Italy! Ms. CrankyPants in her fast-fashion wardrobe and Spanx is coming to town!