Bottoming Out
Many people believe in miracles. Such wonders can come in countless forms: a complete recovery from a critical illness; a narrow escape from life-threatening danger; or a discount liquor store that delivers.
After much soul-searching while waiting for my large two-topping pizza and cheesy bread, I came to my own definition of what a miracle really is: anything capable of lifting my sagging ass one inch or more.
So, I was understandably excited to hear about MiracleBoost jeans. Through a unique design that uses spandex material, these new jeans will lift your behind about an inch.
At least, that’s the claim of Sun Apparel, MicracleBoost jeans manufacturer. Or, as one company executive puts it, your rear will become “rounder, better.”
Now, that’s enticing, especially considering I bought my last pair of jeans based solely on the manufacturer’s promise that “if you hang upside down like a bat, then hook a line from the zipper to a speeding 18-wheel vehicle, we think you just might be able to get these pants over your hips.”
My first challenge was to find somewhere that actually carried the MircaleBoost brand.
I called several department stores, and said, “I’m not even sure if, technically, I have a butt anymore. Everything back there has sort of just slid together. Hard to tell what’s what. So, I really want a pair of those new jeans.”
Three people indicated they would pray for me, and hung up; two referred me to “Al’s House of Incredibly Large Pants”; and one replied, “Oh, you mean the tushy jeans. Sure, we’ve got ’em.”
As luck would have it, though, this was the same store at which my Wonderbra “incident” took place. Perhaps you recall the headlines: “Innocent Shoppers Trampled as Deranged Woman Flees Dressing Room Wearing What She Claims To Be Exploding Undergarments.”
I was afraid I might run into the salesclerk from that fateful day, but I was told that after our encounter, she was on permanent disability, having essentially lost her mind. I understand she now spends her days in some strange form of “occupational therapy,” tearing apart odd-shaped pieces of foam padding from the La Femme girls at the Gay 90’s.
Surprisingly, the store’s security guards were quite nice to me when I came in. They even took the time to chat, telling me that they now carry guns, and that I had “four minutes to try on the damn pants and get out.”
Bad Sign Number 1 was that I had to get a size larger than I normally wear. From a marketing perspective, I believe this is a technique designed to predispose consumers to hope that very bad things happen to whomever designed this particular brand of pants.
Bad Sign Number 2 was that these jeans were actually very thick pantyhose pretending to be pants. You know how women, as well as men who are frequent guests on Jerry Springer, have to squirm and tug to put on pantyhose? This is the same procedure that must be followed to get into your MiracleBoost jeans.
My friend, Jeff, once saw me putting on pantyhose, although he assumed, as he told the 911 operator, “There’s a large wild boar having some sort of seizure in my bathroom.”
Bad Sign Number 3 was that I appeared to be wearing blue Saran Wrap. Now, this would be just fine if I weighed 87 pounds, as I did at birth, and it was the 1970s. You remember the 1970s? That decade in which our extremely tight pants cut off the oxygen supply to our brains, causing us willingly to purchase Bee Gees albums.
Unfortunately, this is 2008, and I looked like an overstuffed, dangerously discolored bratwurst.
I can’t claim I wasn’t warned, though. The tag on the jeans clearly states: “lifts and accentuates for a dramatic difference.”
What it doesn’t indicate, however, is that in some cases, such as those involving my ass, lifting and accentuating—while unquestionably dramatic—are not necessarily a good thing.
So, I’ll be sticking with my plain old could-be-a-three-car-garage brand of jeans. They don’t “accentuate your curves, creating a more beautiful silhouette.” This is a good thing.
Some might even call it a miracle.
Consider the source here, but I think I’ll just acquire some odd-shaped foam from one of the La Femme girls
Bye for now.
Kiss, kiss
