Friday Nights and Spanx suck. (from December 2013)

Last week, my boyfriend and I went to an annual arts building exhibit where studios of paitners, jeewelers, sculpters, and musicias open the space to the community. They serve brie and wine (if you ask politely). They are not very good; except for 1-3 of them, the whole lot was boring and quite dreadful. I will say, my neighsaying could have been influenced by the chaffing between my thighs. These GOD. DAMN. THUNDER. THIGHS. rubbing and chaffing and all together doing me no good.

So we left. I slowly made the train platform walk without looking like I'd ridden a horse into town. Later, when the hose came off, the pain was unleashed into the air and, sure as shit, three giant red welts in my skin arose.

The next day, I talk to my sisters on the phone. I said, "But I don't want to wear Spanx." and Sister #2 and #3 both said at the same time, "Well no one WANTS to wear Spanx, but you HAVE to wear SPANX."

The next day, I bought Spanx.