The first time I tried on a corset, I was nervous. It was an expensive, beautiful, handmade thing. . .and I was a sweaty beast fuzzy from meade and full of turkey leg.
The shopkeep warned me to hold tighter to the lacing post and asked “are you ready?” I answered yes, braced for all the pain and hilarity Kiera Knightly portrayed ad nauseum in the first POTC flick. >_<
That chick pulled with all her might and all of a sudden it was like a weightΒ had been lifted. Β A heavy ass, back squishing weight that I didn’t even know I’d been carrying. I exhaled. . . loudly and gratefully. Which I guess was mistaken for distress because she asked ‘can you breathe?’. Yes. Holy damn YES!
I strutted around the shop in that awesomesauce corset. . . .for about 30 seconds. The bottom edge was DIGGING into my hipbones from above. I had no idea how to sit down in this thing! I pouted and cursed my annoyingly short, and yet weirdly long for a short girl torso ::fist shaking::
I’d given up on my plans to dress like a sexxy pirate/vampire hunter/proper English lady (is it weird that proper lady comes at the END of my list?) When the wubbulous corsetier suggested a “pirate cut” would better suit a lady of my proportions. >translation: hip-tastic<
Behold! This magnificent lacy delight in all its glory!!! Underbust, so as not to interfere with the cannons, and the piratey laces on the hips to accommodate that hourglass I work so freakin’ hard to maintain.
Gurrrrrrl. . . .