Getaway Girl Blog

I enjoy being a girl

"I'm a girl and by me that's only great!"
--Lyrics from "I Enjoy Being a Girl"
(from the musical Flower Drum Song)

I got all gussied up today.

Okay, for most working gals, this is a daily ritual.  Get up, shower up, do-dad the hair, paint on some makeup, choose some combination of skirt, blouse, blazer, dress pants or a dress.  And go.  To work. In an office. Or a classroom. Or behind a counter at a customer service desk. Or maybe at a cash register or standing behind a styling chair at a salon.

Not me.

I'm fortunate enough to be self-employed and doubly fortunate enough to work out of a home office. Which, I am always quick to point out to people who inquire (and many assume), does not mean I work at home in flannel pajamas and pink fuzzy slippers.

On most days, my very formal office attire consists of blue jeans, a sweater and flip flops.

I'm sure most human resources directors would faint knowing the casualness of my daily casual days.

But today, I had to go speechify at the St. Clair Chamber breakfast business networking group. It was my turn, as a chamber member, to talk for seven minutes about my business.

This called for girlifying my wardrobe for the day. (Okay, it's now noon and I'm already ungirlified, but we'll get to that momentarily...)

My favorite thing about wearing dresses is that they don't require a lot of thought. You pull it over your head, zip and go.

Such was my hope when I pulled a black wool/jersey number out of my closet. It was knee length, so I figured on wearing knee high boots. That eliminated the need for--oh god, how I dread these--panty hose. (For the record, I have not worn a pair of panty hose since I started working for myself full time seven years ago. I hear stock in Leggs plummeted about then...)  But after pulling on the boots, I realized my pasty winter white skin was exposed around my pudgy, rolly-polly knees (if ever I was a gal who considered getting cosmetic surgery, it would not be for bigger boobs, it would not be for smaller boobs, it would not be to get rid of cellulite on my round thighs: it would be for liposuction on my fat pudgy knees). 

But I digress...

So I'm standing there staring at the reflection of my fat, pudgy knees in my bedroom mirror when I note that my hips are bulging out of the dress more than I would like. Now I have additional imperfections to correct!

"I'm proud that my silhouette is curvy..."
--Lyrics from "I Enjoy Being a Girl"

My first stop was my lingerie drawer, from which I produced a hip-slip, which is basically a modern day version of the girdle. It sucks in your fat and stuffs it somewhere in the vicinity of your lungs so you can't breathe while you have it on. It fits so snuggly around your thighs that you can't even think about walking normally. Your legs can only move from the area south of the hip slip, which is about your knees.  Or in my case, the fat, pudgy knees. (And, I am convinced the hip slip also stuffs some fat south, which in this case would be to my knees, making them even fatter and pudgier...)

And while the hip slip helped, it didn't completely solve the hip bulge problem.  So, I moved onto Hip Hider Step 2.

I head to the closet, dig out a scarf and after folding it, rolling it, tying knots it and basically doing a Houdini number on it, I had it wrapped about my hips, thus hiding the bulges. Or perhaps even making them appear larger.  Whichever, the snuggly-tied scarf now prevented me from moving, bending or flexing at the waist, but, it was now also a distraction from my bulging hips

Back to the fat, pudgy knees bulging out from my almost-knee high boots. Hmmm. Panty hose, love 'em or hate 'em, were not an option since there is not a single pair to be found in my house. However, as a gal-about-town, I do own, um, how to put this delicately, "stockings."

It's no never mind to anyone why I own stockings that never see the light of day and I don't own panty hose, but after fumbling around in my lingerie drawer, I managed to come up w/a pair of thigh-high fish net numbers. Perfect!

So, I stepped out of the boots, rolled up and then on, the fishnets, put the boots back on and wa-la! 

What I saw in the mirror, as I moved around the room, was something resembling a trussed up turkey with broken legs who can only waddle by way of the only body part that will move: her ankles.

"That I walk with a sweet and girlish gait..."
--Lyrics from "I Enjoy Being a Girl"

So my ankles and the rest of my trussed up, stuffed-into-Lycra body clomped down the stairs and made its way into the car.  Sitting down in the driver's seat was okay, but swinging my trussed up legs and Lycra-sucked-in hip fat required quite a feat. But I made it.

As I rehearsed my little speech in my head on the way to the meeting, I felt a creepy, crawling feeling running down my leg. What was that?

Uh oh...

A runaway thigh-high fish net was creeping down my thigh.  Upon arrival in the parking lot at the restaurant, I turned to the inside of my car, hiked up the skirt of my dress and gave the thigh-high a hitch 'em up.  As I walked to the meeting room, I could feel the thigh high slowly creeping southward.


"With my hips all swively and swervy..."
--Lyrics from "I Enjoy Being a Girl"

When my turn to speak finally came, my ankles waddled my pudgy knees, trussed up thighs and stuffed and scarfed hips to the lecturn.


"My name is..."


"...and I own..."


"...and I can help you with all of your marketing needs..."

For those of you waiting for the moment when I tell you that my fishnet thigh high fell all the way down to point of no-return, right around  my fat, pudgy knees, well, you will be disappointed. No such thing happened.

What did happen, though, was I was so distracted by the creeping fish net that I wiggled and waddled my way through my speechifying, moving only at my ankles, to the point where I'm sure my audience was convinced there were wiggle worms making their way through my panties (iffen I was actually wearing any; hip slips come complete with their own cotton crotch).

Finally, my most girly and womanly moment of the day was over. I was free to leave the meeting, return home, strip down to my birthday suit and re-attire myself in my favorite blue jeans and sweater.

But before I made it out to the car, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a large pane glass store window:  Great big huge blonde waves of 80s hair cascading over my shoulders, large sparkly earrings glinting in the sun, my new (and highly stylish, if I do say so myself!) black spring trenchcoat that cinches in at my waist and then flairs out with a full skirt, making for a very sexy curvy shape, and below the hemline of the coat the ever-so-slightest glimpse of sexy fishnet stockings peeking out from below the coat and yet above the knee high black boots with three and a half inch heels that arch my feet just like a Barbie doll's, hence lifting and shaping my already ample but very womanly butt nice and high and proud.  And did I mention...

"I enjoy being a girl!"
--Lyrics from "I Enjoy Being a Girl"
(from the musical Flower Drum Song)


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