When my mom came out she was terrified of how people would react. She didn’t know if the ones she loved would stand by her, but she took a “leap of faith.” She trusted us. And her bravery has inspired me to come clean, as well. Yesterday, on The Ricki Lake Show, I was wearing Spanx. And they weren’t men’s Spanx. They were my wife’s Spanx.
There, I’ve said it. And it feels good, almost as good as peeling off those tight pantyhose shorts. If you want to judge, then judge. If you want to click away, then click away. I have no time for bigots. I stand here proudly and a bit uncomfortable in this nylon sausage wrapping.
I had no choice. My pants wouldn’t button. I was ashamed and petrified someone would discover the truth. I had to pee through a little slit in the crotch. A few drops dribbled onto my new pants five minutes before the show. My wife and I had bought the suit especially for my TV appearance. Damn it, I knew the suit was too small in Macy’s. I told myself I could trim down, lose ten pounds in six days. I ran, ate nothing but spinach, but I only lost a few. The button on the pants would fasten, but one wrong move, one tiny twist, and I knew it’d snap off and fire into the crowd, possibly hitting someone in the front row. What if it killed my poor mom? You’d be logging onto mygaymom.com/theladywhowasmurderedbyherfatson’stightslacks.
I tried holding in my gut. I tried not breathing. But the risk was too great. So I mustered up some courage and marched into the closet. And I came out in my wife’s undergarments.
Sure, I could make excuses. I could talk about how I quit smoking nine months ago, and that when I’m stressed I sometimes eat when I used to have a cigarette. I could mention how I’d injured my knee, which made running painful. But it’s time I take responsibility for my belly. It’s time I tell the truth.
Yesterday, I was on TV and I was wearing Spanx! And it felt good, like a warm hug, a warm, sweaty, slightly chaffing hug.