“My bouncing is way off.”
“Your bouncing? What's bouncing?”
After practicing my bouncing and clapping, and chanting sorority ditties for two weeks, I had no idea why anyone on earth wouldn’t know what bouncing was.
“It's kind of like jumping up and down without leaving the ground,” I answered.
Bouncing was for certain the bane of my existence. This was my second year in a sorority, and the year that I was going to be on the other side of rush, or Recruitment as they like to say. In my whole time in the sorority, I had made about two friends, or at least “people I could talk to.”
My childhood had left me feeling, still, like that awkward overgrown kid with shaggy bangs covering her face. Yet by this time I had blended in with everyone else, except for the lingering awkwardness. Recruitment preparation had begun in the spring with the passing out of “The Little Black Book,” which described in detail the outfits we were supposed to wear for the four days of Recruitment, with example pictures, the required jewelry and its color, specific shoes, and whether or not we could wear a headband.
On one of the first days of Work Week (actually two weeks of all-day training before rush) I realized the severity of my lack of coordination. The sorority president separated three other stragglers and me into an empty hallway and made us bounce and clap together. The harmony clearly wasn’t there. Just at that moment, with the four of us bouncing up and down like a game of Whac-A-Mole, the rest of the sorority decided to move rooms. I was humiliated enough without having every girl in the house walk by and see my secret shame.
During short breaks we would have “dress checks,” standing outside the director of rush’s room to see if our outfits were up to par. I went into these events nervous, like I was about to confess my sins to a priest. It could only have been worse if I had no clothes on at all – maybe.
One girl came out visibly upset, explaining, “She told me I get a little bloated in my stomach when I eat too much salty food.”
Fearfully I entered. After looking me up and down, they asked, “What are you wearing underneath?”
Wondering what could be bulging, I admitted, “I already have Spanx on.”
“Oh, OK. That’s fine.”
That’s fine? I spent time, effort and cash to get that’s fine? Clearly this was a joke or a bad dream.
Spanx is an undergarment used for body-shaping, a modern girdle. It sucks the fat in from the thighs to right below the bra, leaving a slim shape free of panty-lines.