"THE GRIP": or, How We Can Keep Ourselves Ethereal

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 

Any day!