Look, ladies, I get it. Spanx is the new gym membership. It lifts, it separates and it makes you a total liar. I can tell if your boobs are fake, however, I can not tell if you have a Fupa the size of a basketball ball when you wear the best invention ever, Spanx. Can we get one thing straight though? There is a time for Spanx, and there is time for a thong. Over the weekend I was yachting, and much like crying in baseball, there are no apologies in yachting. I had the pleasure of bringing a young lady back to the yacht from the local bar after a night on the dance floor, crabwalkin and spankin the planks. So after some small talk and a nightcap, she takes off her dress. Upon the dress hitting the floor (in the living room mind you…awkward), the universe collided, the big bang happened in my head and my jaw split open when it hit the floor. For it was for the first time that I was witnessing a Spanx-ing. There she was, topless with flesh colored bicycle looking shorts on as I screamed to myself “grandmapanties…depends…poop…grandmapanties” and I whispered “what are those”. “Spanx” she said with a smile. “I didn’t say your welcome” i said in horror. ”They are the best, they even everything out, they were on Oprah” she says. “Even every…what?” i mutter as she begins to derobe. “no no no” i say. I did not want her taking those things off…I don’t watch car crashes, I hate surgery shows, and I don’t watch spanx come off to see everything return to “nature’s resting spot”. She was politely escorted to a taxi.
In conclusion, ladies, if you are spanking the dance floor planks, then spanx for leaving them at home.
