about magic knickers and the royal mail

By Alison
11 October, 2007
Comments Off on about magic knickers and the royal mail

When you’ve had two kids and you’re not a celebrity, you have to accept that a flat stomach is forever going to be an unattainable dream. Which is why
magic knickers are the best invention since breadslicers. But not all magic knickers are as magic as the others. I’ve got one pair which works well up top
– it doesn’t roll down, it ends at the ribs and there is not a muffin top in sight. But at the other end, the legs holes leave a lot to be desired. They
don’t leave a vpl, they leave an efpl. “Escaping from pants line”. Where the pants end, my voluminous buttocks spill out with a hugh sigh of
relief and a lot of jiggery wobbery. Under tight, stretchy pants this looks bad enough to induce tears.

Of course, I don’t wear tight stretchy pants in public, but I do wear them at the gym. And if there is a place more inclined to induce jiggling, I’ve
not seen it. I always end up at the front, worrying that the people behind are watching in horrified fascination, wondering when the movement is going to stop.

Pineapple dance trousers are no longer up to the job, so off I go to JD sports. I am fully aware that this shop is not designed with fitness in mind, it’s
all about fashion. But they stock reebock, nike, adidas – I am hopeful for a bit of taut figure firming lycra hidden on a back shelf. And I find it, hooray!
Unfortunately, it’s not quite what I expected. The pants are good but still prone to jiggering, and the top is so low cut that I spend my whole session
peering down my front, checking that nipples aren’t peering back at me. The built in bra is so poor that I would put my own eye out if I had more than an a
cup.

So it’s google next, and that is a fruitless search. I find a huge range of sexy excercise gear that appears to have little or no support in websites
across America and Australia. But in Britain there is a very poor choice.

Then, without warning it turned up on my doorstep with the rest of the mailorder hopefuls. A catalogue of sports clothing that includes figure firming tops and
pants, and – get this, it’s the gem – long pants with hidden tummy control. My jaw drops, it’s like the gym bunny fairygodmother just visited! I leap
onto the internet and shop happily.

So what happens next? Royal mail. That’s what. Not a sausage has turned up on my doorstep. It’s a conspiracy, I tell you.