Today I received an email from VS informing me that I could have free shipping on any order for the next two days.  My real mailbox held a clearance catalog from them.  I was practically skipping down the driveway at the thought of a nice new bra that didn’t have “flaps” or the rosette decoration dangling by a thread or a rip.

I’ll be perfectly honest with you.  Now that I am weaning the baby, the girls are rapidly going from plump to well, not so plump.  I am going to miss them.  I suspect I am not the only one!  Fortunately, there are plenty of options for those of us who need not just a lift, but perhaps some bulk as well.

I perused through the offerings.  It has to be lined, because it is cold in Michigan.  Mustn’t distract the husband, you know.  A little lift, nothing too fancy but nothing too plain.  Page after page after page.

Then I got to the undies selection.  Fortunately they spare you the sight of the smooth, undimpled rumps of these children in thongs.  Seriously, is anyone in that catalog old enough to buy booze?  I am betting not.  Well, I don’t do thongs.  I spend enough time trying to keep my panties out of my crack without intentionally wedging them there.

The thought of putting those pretty (and tiny) lacy things on my winter white, stretch mark laden, cellulite toting hamhocks had me ready to weep.  All those tanned, airbrushed limbs just did my self esteem in for the day.

I want a catalog of real women!  The Dove campaign for underpants, if you will.  Line up some brave women who look like real women, because we want to know how that stuff is going to really look on us.  I mean, are the boy cut panties going to land on our thighs in a horrendous manner?  Will there be spillage of flesh around the seams no matter what size we buy?

Sure, I could actually drive there and do my own little fashion show, but seriously.  If I am rattled by a catalog, how am I going to fare in a dressing room?  Considering the time I nearly cried at Target trying on a swimsuit, I think I know the answer.

I haven’t met a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup I didn’t like.  I love to eat, and if I am not careful, I’ll be racing back to Weight Watchers with the silhouette of Spongebob Squarepants again.  I am not big on exercising for the fun of it.  I am untoned.  I am flabby.  But I also look pretty damn good for a woman who has had three kids.  I mean, it could be worse.  If only I were taller….

I just wish they would ease up on the whole finding the five most gorgeous teenagers in the world with impossible figures to hawk their wares.  It leaves some of us so depressed we cannot even place an order.  Take a tiny teacupper like me and show what their bras can do.  Now that would be smart advertising, and might actually make us feel better about the possibilities.

Now where did I hide those Reese’s?