Pass the pecan pie

December 6, 2008

The Victoria’s Secret fashion show was on TV this week.  I tripped over it while flipping through the channels after finishing my weekly run of laundry. 

All I could think when I saw those nearly naked models strutting around in $500 bras and panties was, “Wow, those women sure do look cold.”  I pulled my fuzzy robe a little tighter and turned up the thermostat. 

Call me crazy, but you couldn’t pay me enough to model underwear in December, even in Miami. 

That got me thinking about what an underwear fashion show would look like if you hired real people instead of women who live on celery and hire ex-marines to scream them into skinny.

I think it is a cruel joke on the models to schedule an underwear show the week after Thanksgiving.  Or maybe it is a point of pride for them that they have the discipline to nibble on air while everyone around them gorges on seconds of pecan pie. 

I tore my eyes away from the circus on the screen to glance at myself, all ready for bed.  My robe was a Christmas gift from my brother last year.  It is the sort of thing a brother buys a sister.  Cozy and covering everything from neck to ankles.  My big brother’s way of wrapping up his baby sister in hugs and safety from far away. 

My pajama pants were purchased on a Christmas clearance sale in June.  They are red and white striped, like a candy cane.  They suit the season this time of year, but they were a bit too festive for summer.  I wore them anyway. 

I bought them because they are long enough for my tall frame.  Apparently people who make pajama pants assume all women are pygmies. 

My pajama shirt is the 36th long-sleeved white t-shirt I have owned since junior high.  Every fall I buy two long-sleeved white t-shirts and wear them alternately until they fall apart in the spring.  The long-sleeved white t-shirt is my winter bedtime uniform. 

I’ve taken to sleeping in socks lately.  On the evening the Victoria’s Secret fashion show aired, I was wearing pink, yellow, and white striped ankle socks, which clashed perfectly with my festive red and white candy cane pajama pants.

As I reflected on my bedtime attire, an alien life form floated across the screen in 4-inch stilettos and a pair of angel wings strapped to her back.  And I wondered, do the angel wings come off, or does she wear them beneath her clothes?  Are they part of the underwear ensemble? 

I assume they are just a prop.  But I’m not sure what is more impractical, the enormous angel wings strapped to her back, or the bra covered with diamonds. 

I know that diamonds are a girl’s best friend, but I would think that wearing them in certain areas would simply cause chafing.  If I’m going to spend thousands of dollars on diamonds, put them on a handbag for crying out loud.  String them on a necklace and pass the pecan pie. 

This article first appeared in the Lewistown News-Argus December 6, 2008.