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Spanx and the Legend of George Shaw

Well that was nice,so nice that we wondered why we hadn't gone for it earlier. We are very happy. How can I write about it? To write means to create distance, and I can't be distant right now. So I won't write about the wedding yet,  the friendship, the love, the magic, the gardens, the sculptures, the food and wine, the amazing staff, the help from all around. Instead, I will write about absurdities.

First there were the spanx pants. Now, I had this dress, and while not figure hugging,it was nicely tight and I worried. There was no bulge, it was cut in a style that makes all the good look better and all the bad...well, there is no bad.  Or was there? Suppose I bloated up and suddenly had a bridal belly? I couldn't take the risk, so I bought these:https://www.google.co.uk/webhp?sourceid=chrome-instant&ion=1&espv=2&ie=UTF-8#q=spanx+figleaves&tbm=shop&spd=2817261777455835163

I didn't have time to try them on, so just hoped for the best. The day came and...

Tried the dress on without them. Nice,smooth silhouette.
Tried the dress on with them. Nice smooth silhouette,no real difference with the dress on, with the dress off I looked like a sausage roll,the kind  that's been baked and left for a couple of days and now sweats slightly in the heat.  Bye bye stupid spanx. I should have left them hanging from a tree in the sculpture gardens as a piece of statement art, the statement being 'When I get scared, I spend money like an idiot.'

The day after the wedding,larians parents held a barbecue, inviting relatives, neighbours and friends round for steak, chicken, and the biggest buffet I have ever seen including not one but 2 impressively dressed and served salmon. They had little crowns  made out of mayonnaise and vegetable garnish; One of them had long flowing locks made out of some brownish sauce. I was both impressed and afraid.

Out in the garden under the sun, we sat and drank our wine while the food cooked,and a very elderly gentleman from the midlands decided apropos of nothing to tell me this:

'Have you heard of George Shaw?' He said.
'Um... I've read his plays,' I answered, thinking of GB Shaw.
'What plays?' The man chuckled heartily, 'Naw, he weren't a one for writing. His gifts were better than that, for a bride at least!'
Yes, I know I should read signals, I know.
'I learnt this when I used to ride with [insert name boot has forgotten] Hunt.' Signal number 2, and I got this one. I tried to make excuses to leave, but to no avail, he was in full flow.

'Charles used to ride with that hunt, he and that Fiona [another forgotten name] and she led that hunt I tell you. And George Shaw would ride with them all. And Fiona used to say to me that  George Shaw was the only man she ever knew who could relieve himself without leaving the saddle.'

I stared at him uncomprehendingly, wondering if this was some story of a catheter burdened huntsman, until someone put me out of my misery by explaining that Fiona's gossip was based entirely on George Shaw's legendary endowments. And the old man laughed at my naivete, and the salmon stared at me and I collared myself a beer.

And suddenly I could think of several uses for those spanx pants.


( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
Aug. 3rd, 2016 06:38 pm (UTC)
You were laughing like a drain when you told me that story! 😀
Aug. 4th, 2016 07:11 am (UTC)
I was perplexed...
and am still laughing like a drain now!

( 2 comments — Leave a comment )



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