I never made the honor roll in high school—and it was all because of my Playtex living girdle. It wasn’t lack of ability or motivation. It wasn’t even lack of desire. It was lack of oxygen.

When I remember high school, I inevitably remember that girdle. I also remember the most chewy, delectable peanut butter cookies you can imagine offered every day in the school cafeteria. Do you see my dilemma? That cookie was a masterpiece of dough and sugar prepared a la larde for a hungry, pimply teenage market. As a result, my stomach, tush, and thighs became a la larde as well.  Which…brings me back to the girdle.

Made of rubbery plastic, Dame Playtex was pricey at $6.98, but she really did deliver industrial-strength tummy control. Only one problem: breathing was optional.  However, in those all-important teen years, labored breathing was a small price to pay for the illusion of a flat stomach.  The thought of the cool kids seeing my actual, untamed stomach was too humiliating to bear, and those peanut butter cookies were nonnegotiable. So, day after torturous day, I allowed my innards to be squished into shameful submission.

How did this self-imposed misery increase my cuteness rating? Not as much as I’d hoped. I put the Vinyl Maiden to the test by auditioning to be a “Hot Box girl” in our school production of Guys and Dolls.  I had taken dance lessons for five years, and I wasn’t half bad, so, with my chubby figure squeezed into compliance, it could happen. Except it didn’t. The director offered me a role in the Salvation Army chorus instead. Salvation Army? Wear a cape and ring that clunky bell? I could have been a Salvation Army lady without my girdle. I was never going to be a Hot Box girl. But…I pulled myself up by those Playtex garter straps and carried on.

To digress for a moment, my blubbery years actually began in fourth grade–I still remember the actual, humiliating day.  I was searching in my desk for a fountain pen and caught an unexpected glimpse of my lap. That glimpse revealed a solid mound of unwanted flesh, an evil Jello slab sent to torment me day and night—where did it come from? It seemed to have erupted overnight. I began hiding it under chemise blouses and sack dresses. Thankfully, they were all the rage then.

Then…something magical happened. It was as if my fairy godmother said “bibiddi bobiddi boo,” and the Playtex Living Girdle miraculously appeared everywhere.

Oh, did I mention Dame Playtex was delicately scented in floral blossom pink? A scented girdle. Aroma therapy wasn’t even trendy in the 60s, but I guess it was kind of like “new car smell” for the gut. So, anyway, back to why I only made C’s instead of A’s:

The garment in question was equipped with air holes, but they weren’t sufficient, and my brain was regularly deprived of needed oxygen.  For example, when my social studies teacher droned on about Mao Tse Tung of China, all I heard was egg foo yung on china. I was hungry—and gasping for air. Current Events Test: C minus.

Then there was gym class. That was particularly challenging because we weren’t allowed to wear girdles—living or otherwise. And…we had to do body self-assessment. Oy…as if I wasn’t self-conscious enough. When we got to the abdominal analysis, the choices were flat, slightly rounded, or protruding. I knew I couldn’t mark flat, but I rationalized slightly rounded was enough of a downgrade. When I got my C plus report back, I was stunned that my hefty, somewhat Amazonian teacher, crossed out slightly rounded and wrote in flaming, rub-it-in-red—with two exclamation marks—protruding. Protruding? Really, Stocky Jockey? You’re not exactly a pageant winner yourself. A little sensitivity wouldn’t hurt…

Be that as it may, I’ve got one on you, Teach. You never knew I nonchalantly (and regularly) dribbled a basketball right out of class—after you took attendance. Yes, I dribbled that dusty thing right outta the gym, bolted for the exit, and broke free from your loser class where I was free to be my protruding self.   

But, alas, no happy ending here. No merit scholarship for the gal with the flabby, girdle-squeezed body who ditched gym. No glamourous musical role for the chubby girl in vinyl. Thankfully, the Playtex girdle is long gone and has been replaced by many much kinder shapewear options. Now we don’t torture ourselves–we simply smooth out those little “lumps and bumps.” Ab-solution, at last!  So, with that pleasant thought in mind, I borrow a familiar refrain from the always funny Bob Hope, who, by the way, was thin: “Spanx…for the memories!”

_____________________________

Afterword: I ultimately lost the weight, though that journey is a story in itself. And it’s a daily (sometimes hourly) battle to keep it off.  

“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:13). Some food for thought—preferably not the fattening kind.