Tuesday, September 1, 2015
I remember at age seven or so
sneaking peeks through these girdle catalogs
my mom had around the house
and being slightly titillated
by the models in there.
She was a local rep for some of those companies--
ya know, kinda like the Avon lady,
only she sold girdles.
And back then business was booming.
Yeah, it was all about being the best
you could be,
even if it wasn't the real you.
And girls wore "falsies" too,
which were bras that made you look
bustier than you really were.
And it was all okay because
most of those bouffant beauties
were't going to let it all hang out
with anybody until after the guy
had signed on the dotted line
and then he got what he got
and too bad if he didn't like it.
And then the girdles went the way of the Edsel.
(And if you've ever negotiated a girl
out of a girdle
in the back seat of an Edsel,
then buddy you've got a whopper
of a classic tale to tell!!!)
Yes, the smell of weed and liberation was in the air,
and ladies were only too happy to slip free
of the bonds of their latex booby traps,
though it caused many to have to come to grips
with who and what they really were,
and furious dieting commenced throughout the land.
And some overdid it, and that gave rise to Twiggy,
who ate like a piggy
but brought it all back up again
and that was the rise of the "supermodel."
And now, back to our young boy and his story!
A few years later I discovered what
the primary function for the girdle really was,
on a blind date where she was tucked inside
one of those things (I knew she was in there somewhere)
and she let me touch her up top all I wanted,
but though I tried, there was no way in hell I could have ever
peeled that second skin off her--it was so tight--
and that was just the way she planned it.
So I don't mind tellin' ya, son,
that in The Battle Of The Sexes,
I was on the front lines!