by Kat Apf

Created on: November 20, 2009   Last Updated: December 06, 2009

Is there anything that brings on depression and hope all in one breath more than the Victoria's Secret catalog does? It's this odd mixture of pain and joy all wrapped up in a catalog delivered right to your front door. When you open the mail box and see that glossy cover with some blonde babe in her underpants on it, it sparks on sadness stirred up with a feeling of a pipe dream. You know you're never going to look that good.

At my age, I turn those pages and look at all these gorgeous young things in stunning underwear and think, "Yeah, well, one can hope!" Mostly, I check to see if anything will cover my stretchmarks and if they have anything in flannel.

And the expressions on those girls' faces. To a guy, maybe it's sexy but to me, they look like they are about to pass out. Like maybe that burrito they ate for lunch was a little too spicy and they are wondering if they can get away with a burp and the photographer won't hear it.

I also have a problem these days seeing the prices, too. My arm isn't long enough and while prices weren't so important in my younger days, now, I want to make sure I'm not spending too much on something that will most likely look ridiculous.

The clothes are a little bit better in the hope department. I mean, I can look close to how those women look, right? I mean if I wear a really big sweater with those cute little skirts, it will hide my bulging middle, right? Yeah, right!

There's a fleeting moment of hope when I end up finding the half page of flannel pajamas. Even I can look good in those! But then, I notice the model only has one button closed and her stomach is like a freakin' washboard. Maybe I could wear the jammies like that and suck my stomach in as far as it will go? I try and fail. Depression sweeps over me again.

My favorite moment with Victoria was a few years ago when my husband bought me a cute little bra and panty set. It was adorable but for some reason, he ordered a bra in a size 36B. When I returned it, I said to the clerk, "Wishful thinking, I guess, " She gave me a look and handed me forty bucks. I spent it pair of sweats from the sporting goods store.

I don't exactly know who I am kidding, I didn't look that good when I was their age. Next time that catalog comes, I'm just going to toss it into the outside trash can and not even think about it. No, really! I am!

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