Burn Baby Burn

There are times in your life where you can sit back comfortably and say "Well I'm never doing that again!"

This is not one of those times.

Seeing how I can't sit comfortably at all.

But I'm never doing that again, all the same!

The 'that' that I am talking about is falling for one of those Group Buying sites, which purport to offer bigger better bargains on a whole host of needful things.

Foolishly my hips and I thought I needed to try the new body-shaping salon at our local shopping centre.

It sounded promising enough (well they always do don't they?) Save 70% on Two Sessions where "you could lose centimetres" from a chosen body part, without anaesthesia, scars, and no discomfort, if you can believe the hype.

I should've known something was up when the store itself wasn't actually named on the voucher, simply 'Shop 21' at the given address. Next hint was when I called the listed number and got an answering machine: "Sorry we can't take your call right now, but please leave a message and we'll get back to you." Again, no name, so no message from me.

Attempt number 3 proved a little more positive and I got to speak to an actual person- albeit one with a very strong accent.  I tentatively booked in for the next day.

Came the day I headed for the address, clutching the precious piece of paper that promised so much and trotted along with my hopes and my head up looking for the elusive 'Shop 21'.

I was received with great welcome and the offer of Chinese Green tea, which I respectfully declined...I was keen to start losing those centimetres!

Shown into a cubicle barely big enough for the bed, I was told to remove my jeans and lay down.  At least I think that's what I was told. So that's what I did. On her return the friendly little female fired up the machine destined to do the dirty work. Next thing that should've suggested this process was probably not recommended by doctors were the words 'Explosive Speed Grease' exploding across the front of the thing (What the hell?), but no, having spent my money with the rest of the Group, I was determined to suck it up, or at least let the machine do it for me...

First step, squirting cold conductor gel onto my flabby bits, followed by a gentle soothing massage with probe number one whose ultrasonic pulses start attacking the fat cells inside (the Radio Frequency mode).

Sorry, did I say 'soothing'? The thing emitted such a painfully high pitch while it worked that I was sure dogs from surrounding suburbs would come running to see what all the fuss was about. Either that or disappear in the opposite direction. Which is what I should have done. 

The sound was a strange robotic chime that went straight to the very centre of my hearing centre, which is a whole lot worse than it sounds (think Dentist drill times 100). It set my teeth on edge, and apparently also had a similar effect on my muscles as the friendly little female had to remind me to "Relax". (Guess she couldn't gently massage my gluteus maximus while it was maximised...) Trying to follow her instruction to "Enjoy the music" I had to tune out the squealing in my head to focus on the easternised version of a popular song: Simon and Garfunkel's 'Sounds of Silence'. (Does that sound like irony to you?)

Phase Two was a heat treatment designed to start breaking down the fat cells, ready for easy removal by the body (the delightful sounding Fat Cavitation). Unfortunately, the aforementioned female didn't reapply the gel and I started leaping off the bed every time she hit a dry patch of skin with the heat probe. "Solly! Solly!" she said as she then squirted enough gel to cover the necessary bits...along with my undies, the towel attempting to cover what remained of my modesty, and the bed itself. So now I'm lying there, butt in the air, in a puddle of cold conduction fluid. My only saving grace was that I had worn the 'good' undies.

Having survived Phase Two it was onto the final step- Lymphatic Drainage- a mini vacuum cleaner type attachment that promised to somehow start sucking that fat right outta there.

By now I was way beyond relaxation, way beyond enjoying the sounds of silence, and much more in tune with my body saying it was not at all happy with my choice today.

So I wasn't particularly peeved when the friendly little female told me that my two hips equalled two sessions and my voucher was now used up. I walked out of there a lot faster than I walked in, and was indeed starting to 'feel the burn'. So much for 'no discomfort'! Unfortunately, I kept on feeling the burn well into the night (rather like sunburn on the inside), despite drinking the recommended water, and applying cool packs to the affected areas. By 5am, I was totally over the sensation, so here I am, sitting on a cold pack, dosed up on painkillers, with just as many centimetres as I set out with.

So no, I am absolutely, definitely, positively, and painfully never doing that again.

And as for Group Buying, methinks I have been well and truly burned.

Jx

©2012

Bottoms up!

First thing I’m going to do when I win the lottery is throw out all my undies.

Oh I’m not going to go off and join a commune or even ‘go commando’ ... it’s simply a secret dream I hold (not so secret now though) to once again own at least one complete set of matching bra and briefs. And socks without holes. Like I used to have in the years B.C. (that's 'Before Children' for the uninitiated). Instead of the hodge podge of decrepit cotton I make do with now.

Yes, due to different demands on the family budget, gone are the days when I had underwear I could happily wear. Gone too, the times when I could strip down to my smalls with a smile when necessary (and given my medical history, it’s been necessary a little too often).

I’ll try to be brief (pun fully intended). These days, I’m flat out finding a flattering (and not flattening) fit for my girls. I’d settle for a pair of panties that stayed put once you put them on. And don’t even get me started on socks! (I’ve already stated my opinion on those annoying little devils.)

Why is it that manufacturers of over-the-shoulder boulder holders for larger ladies think that black, white, or beige is enough of a colour choice? And why are they so darn expensive once you go up a few cups? It’s not like you’re using that much more fabric to make the darn things, for crying out loud!

There have been times, as I’ve recounted elsewhere, that I have tried on practically every item in the store without success. And too many times I have longingly looked at the lingerie section…*sighs*… there but for the grace of God go I.

As for undies, maybe I’m just unlucky, but I’m yet to find a brand that stays where they’re supposed to, looks great, and won’t break the family budget to buy. They either ride up, fall down, or my all-time favourite: the waistband stays behind after the knickers come off (please tell me I’m not the only one that’s happened to?)!

I have found that if you’re worried about the dreaded VPL, you really need to go the G string (in its various incarnations), and risk doing damage where your mother never kissed you. Or if you opt for comfort instead, you’re pretty much left with Nanna knickers, otherwise known as Passion Killers (for obvious reasons). That’s a bit too ‘Bridget Jones’, even for me.

Sure, there are other options for tops and bottoms, but I’m yet to discover the perfect pair within my current price range.

For example, a friend of mine recently splurged on one of those Dr Rey Shapewear jobs. Aside from the fact you almost have to mortgage your house to buy a pair, she found it nearly impossible to A) breathe, B) walk, and C) go to the bathroom… but hey, it’s true that she looked good not doing all those things!

So I’ve had to settle for the Best & Less specials, and managed to get the pulling up or picking out down to a fine art.

Oh, I’ve also decided that genes play their part in these particular problems. (Something else I can blame on my parents.)

Yes, unfortunately for him, it seems my son inherited the family backside and was forever pulling his waistband up or the bottom bits down, until we switched him to boxer shorts. It did the trick too- and the time spent picking at his pants has been greatly reduced, I’m happy to say. He never did quite get the knack of doing it without drawing attention to himself. (My daughter, however, is not at all fazed to tell all and sundry whenever she has a ‘wedgie’. So we’ve put her in those boyleg/shortie undies too, to try head that one off at the pass, so to speak.)

And so, first item on the agenda when I win The Big One is to chuck out all the smalls. And then replace them all.

And you can be sure that when we crack the champers to toast our win, it’ll be “Bottoms up” in more ways than one!

Jx
©2009