Have you ever had to decide between clean lines and less bulge or saving a manicured pair of hands with freshly done nail polish?
Or better yet, have you ever asked your HUSBAND to help you put on your Spanx?
The scene of the Spanx and nail polish debacle, aka A Lesson in How NOT to put on Spanx:
With 30 minutes to get glammed up and pretty for my black tie event, I found myself in the oversized bathroom in a room at The Wynn resort in Las Vegas, on a Saturday evening. I did not look half bad with my freshly applied make up, fake eyelashes, black tie hair, and a last minute but seriously needed dark silver manicure.
Within seconds of starting to put on my Spanx, I realized that my freshly applied nail polish was not entirely dry. Although the nail polish felt dry to the touch, when it came into contact with anything, the result was a smudge on my just done finger nails.
In a Hail Mary moment, I did the unthinkable and asked my husband to help me put on my Spanx. As in, I asked him to take the unforgiving material and attempt to shimmy it up my legs and over the bulges and love handles and everything else.
You probably want to stop and let that visual seep in. It is not pretty, trust me.
Applying Spanx is hard enough when you do it yourself, but asking someone else to do it for you? Imagine being pinched every time he tried to gather the material. Or how it might feel to be standing there with half of you covered and the other half not, while your husband attempts (unsuccessfully) to wrap you up like a sausage.
Literally, with every attempt, it was like my body and skin multiplied and morphed to make it that much harder. Talk about allowing yourself to be vulnerable. I would have cried had it not been for my make up and lashes.
Finally I made the only choice I could. I could not, for my ow sanity, or for any potential romantic moments where I did not want to be thought of as a sausage continue to allow him to help.
I chose Spanx over my nail polish.
With a heavy heart, I took off the deep and glittery Chimney Sweep colored nail polish, nail by nail. I did, in case you are wondering, contemplate for a brief moment the possibility of not wearing the Spanx at all. But I also knew that I needed every ounce of extra “sucker up” protection and compression as possible. Fake eyelashes or not, not feeling my bulges under my dress gives me that extra burst of confidence. I know, I know, I should Just.Be.Enough. But in that moment, I needed my Spanx.
Off came the nail polish, and on went my Spanx…with my own two hands.
The pieces of dark stained cotton balls in the trash can were the evidence of what was and what could have been…but my ability to put on my own Spanx told a story of attempted vulnerability, marital bliss, and a laid the foundation for a smilier me for the rest of the evening.
What about you? Would you have saved your nail polish, ditched the Spanx, or had your spouse help you into your Spanx?