Home » How to forgive yourself for watching even 15 minutes of the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show

How to forgive yourself for watching even 15 minutes of the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show

by Merritt McGlynn

So last night was basically insane. Working mom schedules 4pm dentist appointment, hoping that it ends on time so she’s not late to pick up the kids. Same working mom also schedules gymnastics class for the girls at 6:20pm. Same working mom was not expecting 2 inches of rain and a nor’easter. Of course, the dentist was 15 minutes behind. Of course one of my shortcuts was flooded. Of course the gymnastics tights were laundered inside-out and therefore neither child could successfully dress herself.

Applesauce pouches and Christmas cookies are an appropriate pre-gymnastics snack, right? Right. Thankfully, gymnastics allows me one solid hour to sit by myself (avoid polite conversation with others), watch my girls improve on the uneven bars (check facebook), and get some reading in (Christmas card envelopes).

After getting them home, fed, and into bed, we sat down to watch New Girl and Mindy because they are (not) my husband’s favorite shows (DVR’ed b/c ain’t nobody got time for live TV). I’m still finishing the Christmas cards when the shows end, scrolling through the guide, and select the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show because I knew that my girl Taylor Swift was performing.

Side note. Yes, I’m all over the new, feminst Taylor Swift. I bought 1989. I listen to it way more than an almost-35 year old mother of two ever should. But it’s such good pop music. Sooo good.

Moving on. We did not get to see Taylor, but we saw Ed Sheeran (who? I don’t know) and Arianna Grande (you’re never going to replace JLo so please just stop) and several obviously non-human ladies of the runway.

And at first, I was all, “Hahaha… these crazy girls are probably starving 19 year olds from another planet.”

But the interview segments proved that they were indeed Earthlings. And then I was all, “Honey, do you think they’re ALL from Russia or some eastern European post-Russia country that Putin has maybe invaded and is he now making a new Russia and what’s going on with that?” He surprisingly did not answer me. Distracted?

And then there was another interview segment (http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-2858005/The-greatest-catwalk-Earth-Angels-Alessandra-Ambrosio-Adriana-Lima-lead-way-Victoria-s-Secret-dazzle-2m-Dream-Angels-Fantasy-Bras.html) where 2 of the models confessed to being IN THEIR 30s and MOTHERS OF MULTIPLE CHILDREN.

I almost wasted perfectly good Christmas cookies by throwing them at the TV. And then turned it off. I think I survived a grand total of 17 minutes.

So, if you, like me, stumbled upon this train wreck and could not, just couldn’t, turn away. Here’s the part where you can feel better about yourself.

1) Eat the Christmas cookies. Let’s face it. They sort of are aliens. And Christmas cookies taste so good. And you know those girls haven’t eaten a cookie in years. Suckers.

2) Go extra hard at the gym today. So I know this group of girls in Hopewell. And they are so good about running, and working out, and being super supportive of each other and I love them so much. So if you need to go for an extra mile or another set of burpees at the gym, you go for it. DO IT. I promise it will make you feel better, and proud of your awesomely real and strong body. (Over in Lawrenceville, we’re still eating the cookies. Join me.)

3) Acknowledge that it’s all a marketing and media ploy and you’re so media savvy, you’re definitely not ever going to shop that brand again. How could you? It’s objectifying, unnecessary, and it’s an inappropriate representation of women’s self-image used to line the pockets of increasingly rich billionaires.

4) Maybe go online and check out how much that ruby dream angel bra cost. It’s insane, trust me.

5) OOoooh. They sell such nice yoga pants. You need new ones for that extra long run you’ll take on New Year’s Day when all the cookies are gone.

See? You feel better now. You’re welcome.

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