What goes up must always come down

If something goes up, it eventually must come down.

You throw a ball in the air — it has no choice but to fall to the ground.

Airplanes must eventually land.

The pull of gravity is greater than anything science can do to deny it.

I, however, at one point in my life, decided that gravity would have no hold on me. I would defy it with all that fashion designers and clothing manufacturers have to offer.

If something can be pushed up, that’s the direction I was going to try to take it.

Years ago, I wrote about my sister’s amazing discovery: the Bombshell Bra.

Yes, it was a find greater than the underwater wreckage of the Titanic or satellite images of the top a Tibetan mountain where experts claim to have found Noah’s Ark.

The Bombshell, Sister said, “transformed her life,” taking her from an everyday mom to a Victoria’s Secret model, just by putting the thing on.

Hearing how her life had been “changed,” I decided it was time for me to find The Bombshell for myself — especially seeing how I’ve got eight years of seniority over my sister, The Bombshell.

I went to the source of all things lifting — the hallows of Victoria — where I simply asked for someone to help me find a bra that properly fits.

I was led to a mysterious room, a place where all knowledge is held as to what a bra is supposed to do. When I entered this new realm, along with my own personal guide, I had no idea it was going to take 45 minutes to discover what I’m really supposed to have on my chest.

After the marathon of experimentation, my guide (I think her name was Sarah) proclaimed I was ready to enter the world with my new purchases dedicated to fulfilling my life’s journey.

OK, I thought, one area is going up.

Next, I explored a new line of “shape wear” that was said to “lift while smoothing” the backside.

Knowing that my derriere certainly needs to go somewhere other than the sagging level at which it now sits, I took a chance. I purchased several lycra pieces that were to push the booty to Kardashian proportions.

OK, I thought, another area is going up.

On my last leg of discovery, I addressed my next shortfall — my height. I can lift every piece of everything all day long, but I’m still standing only five feet and two inches off the ground.

The only answer is heels. So I purchased several pairs of shoes that gave me at least a few extra inches.

OK, I thought, all of me is going up.

Starting on a Monday, I began my trek into the unknown. My chest was placed in a magical sling that yes, gave me the most uncomfortable cleavage to the point it got in the way while steering my mini-van.

My backside miraculously did this uplift thing when I donned the tight, pinching miracle undergarment. And when I stepped into the heels — sure, my ankles made popping noises and I had shin splints by noon, but I was definitely taller.

Everything was looking up.

Day after day, I shoved and prodded everything unspeakable into a contraption of some sort to see if it transformed my life. Yes, everything was up in the air, as I tried to break in these devices . . . I kept telling myself that I would eventually grow accustomed to it all and the various pieces would have a little more give after wear and tear.

Then came Friday morning. After four days of torturous prodding and pushing, I jumped back in, determined to stay in the game. Bubbies up. Check.

Booty shoved in. Check. Feet . . . stuffed . . . into . . . boots . . . that fit . . . before I ate a bag of pretzels . . . it hurts . . . but it’s worth it. Check.

I grabbed my keys and was headed to the door when I realized I couldn’t take another step. Uh, everything felt awful.

My breasts felt as though they were going to literally wrap around my throat and strangle me. My backside ached to be released from confinement. And my left foot was starting to lose feeling.

That’s when I decided it was time to take a break. I headed back to the bathroom, unzipping the boots and tumbling back down to my short, little world.

I took off the “shape wear” and donned a lovely, familiar pair of regular old Hanes cotton briefs. And then Victoria’s brilliant secret went back in the drawer where I found my lovable stand-by that allows my chest to plummet to disappointing depths.

I took a deep cleansing breath. I felt like me again. Just deficient, saggy, pudgy, glorious me!

It was a wonderful day, as I could turn my steering wheel without the girls getting in the way.

My flat, worn out tennis shoes made me feel as if I was walking on a cloud. And my butt just sat there, in the most satisfying way that wasn’t much to look at . . . but then again, I can’t see it anyway!

And with that week of trial and tribulation, I learned a very valuable lesson that has been proven by science again and again . . . what goes up must always come down.

 

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