We've Got A Wardrobe Malfunction Over Here

Sometimes when C and I are watching television at night, we’ll happen to pass over one of those infomercials advertising some kind of ab torture device or a waistband expander.  Often the booming voiceover or B-level host will make a cheap but effective reference to the physical adversary of every viewer: the muffin-top.  This is especially true if the product is being marketed to women (really, have you ever known a guy who bought an Inch-Master?).  I almost always start giggling at this point of the infomercial, because I love the mental image evoked by having your body described as a breakfast pastry.  Contrary to what Mr. Voiceover says though, what I believe my body tends toward is actually the muffin-bottom, and I’ve never seen an infomercial for something to cure that.

When your middle spills over a belt, the problem is probably not actually the size of your belly.  Really, it’s the pants, which is why the Inch-Master is looking like a better and better value.  Or, I suppose you could go out and get a pair of pants that don’t give your hips a rug burn.  I once worked with a girl who really did get a rash because her tourniquet belt continually chafed away at her waist.  Trust me, I know that it hurts to have to go up a pant size – I’ve done it more than once – but is it really worth it to have to back up to a wall in order to bend over and tie your shoe?   And really, where to muffins go when you eat them?  Mine go to my bottom, not my top.  

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While the issue north of the equator gets far more attention and celebrity, I think the muffin-bottom is unfairly neglected. Unfortunately (or fortunately), the only references I've found for muffin-bottom have had to do with baked goods or liposuction.  I can’t imagine why marketing firms haven’t started using this concept as the advertising gold it could be, except that when I say that the search revealed only references to pastries and thigh lipo, I'm not kidding.  It seems that this malaise is the resilient ugly step-sister that Cinderella locked in the basement. 

You don't remember this?

You must be thinking of the another Cinderella.  The one I remember was strong and vindictive.

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However, this step-sister is not the Drizella I remember.

Apparently there’s no cheap fix for too much southern exposure– you have to have it surgically removed.  So it seems that neither foe is easily conquered.  Ridding yourself of a muffin-top will only succeed if you can also wean yourself off of the need to shrink wrap your lower body, because using your belt as a rubber band will always produce the same result, no matter your size.  

So if you want to wear your pants like a pastry wrapper, be my guest.  But when you're hiding in a corner so that you can safely scratch your ankle, know that the only thing standing between you and freedom of movement is your pride.  

And your pants.