By Barbara Falconer Newhall
They used to be known as figure flaws. I’m sure there’s a brand-new, trendy euphemism for them — “body features” maybe. I’m thinking of those wayward physical parts that you mostly forget about when you’re not in a department store fitting room, just you, that three-way mirror and those unforgiving florescent lights.
My daughter’s wedding is coming up in May, and I’ve got my share of body features that I’d rather not take to the party.
Yeah. I know. It’s her day, not mine. But when the guests are done looking at the bride, they might well turn their attention to
that short, chubby lady standing next to her. Her mom. Me. The one with the flabby arms, runaway belly fat, pathetic dowager’s hump, wiggly turkey gobbler neck, droopy boobs, and sun spots on her face, hands and what passes for a decolletage.
That’s six, count ’em six, ways to look dreadful on my daughter’s wedding day.
Coming soon — a mini collection of mother-of-the-bride dresses that I’m hoping will conceal, hide, cover up, squeeze into submission (show off?) those uncooperative body parts.
Meanwhile, more fashion at “For China’s Young Fashionistas, the Cultural Revolution Is So Over.” And another mother-of-the-bride story at “No to Bride Barbie. Yes to a Real-Life Wedding.”
you make me laugh out loud!
He-he . . .
Barbie, that is your winning trait, you see how to turn everyday observations into something funny that everyone has in common, so we can laugh together.
The trick is to get myself to the place where I can laugh at my particular case of the human condition. It helps when someone reassures me that they are having the same challenge.