This appeared in “The Grip” (a Toronto publication) on 5th April 1884:
WOMAN'S BUGBEAR or
HOW CAN WE KEEP OURSELVES ETHEREAL
One mystic, miserable night,
I felt myself expanding;
My corset, gloves and boots grew tight,
And I was left demanding
What can it mean?
I slowly swelled like leavened dough
'Twas surely barely human
In one brief night that I should grow
Into a side-show woman,
So very stout.
My gloves flew from each swelling hand,
My ripped boots left their places,
My corset vainly made a stand,
But, pop! bang! went the laces,
And it was gone.
And still I grew with fearful haste:
My gloves were twenty seven,
The tape around my swollen waist
Proclaimed me Five-eleven
Feet and inches!
I shuddering woke; it was a dream!
My waist still graceful tapers;
In "twos" my feet still glance and gleam,
And carry on their capers,
My gloves are fives.
I warning take; my tiny waist
Shall smaller grow in smaller corset;
Here, Mary Jane, I must be laced
Until it meets: there, force it
Tighter and tighter!
There, fifteen inches, that will do.
I scarce can breathe without a doubt, or
Brag, the pain is fierce, but whew!
Far better pain than growing stouter