You just know that the day is probably going to suck, when you just can’t get a pair of decent pantyhose.
Got up this morning, and got dressed. A cute flirty skirt and a somber turtleneck. Cute loafers. Brushed my hair. Where’s my purse? Oh there it is. Grabbed the keys and out the door.
Ooops. Forgot something. Pantyhose. Need pantyhose.
Rummaging around my sock drawer, I find tights and trouser socks and normal little white socks. But not a pair of pantyhose to be found.
DAMN! I suddenly think back to the previous weekend where I wore my very last pair to the convention, then promptly trip and fell and tore it.
It was then that my eye noticed the little yellow sticky note that was peeping from my coat pocket.
“PICK UP NEW PAIR OF HOSIERY!!!” it said.
Figures.
I stalk to the car, but none too frustrated, as I had to get gas anyways. As gross as I think those little stores at gas stations are; they do have hosiery and its only going on my legs.
When I get to the gas station, I set up the pump, then run into the store to get a pair of hose. As it is, my feet are starting to feel a little sticky.
I walk pass the aisles of Doritos and shoe shine, of mouthwash and nose tweezers…but not a pair of pantyhose in sight!
“Excuse me sir,” I ask timidly to the big gruff and oily man behind the counter, “but where would the pantyhose be?” He looked down at me, and I could see myself reflected in the sheen of oil on his nose. I took a step back as the rancid musk that emanated from his body wafted toward me. No. Not a good omen.
“Out.”
“Out?” I asked. I wasn’t sure if he meant that they were all out or if he wanted me out. The answer was all the same. I quietly paid for my gas under his steely glare and I raced back to my car.
Fortunately, there was a 7-11 a mere block away. I passed by the requisite aisles of toothpaste and donuts and the aisles of soda and antifreeze (has anyone ever grabbed the antifreeze, thinking that it was soda, I wonder), and finally. The shining mecca of the entire 7-11. The pantyhose. My eyes scanned for a pair of nude pantyhose in my size, but there was none to be had! They had nudes galore…but not a single one in my size. The closest thing they had, was a Double Queen, which could probably have been able to fit my entire body in one of the stocking legs.
My feet were starting to really feel sticky.
I got back into my car and drove on. After all there was another 7-11 on this road, near my office. I just have to resist the urge to cut off my feet until then.
Practically running through the 7-11, I passed by the stale pizza and ear wax remover, and the shoe laces and the slurpees to come to the hosiery. They had it! A row! A glorious row of size A pantyhose. I nearly swooned with relief and pleasure…until I noticed…that…there…was…no…NUDE! They had blues and black and gray and even a pair of green hose…but not a pair --- not a solitary pair of NUDE!
My shoulders slumped in defeat and I was practically ready to cry.
Bravely fighting back tears and sniffed a few times, I continue to drive. My last hope for this already pantyhose disastrous day would be upon the frail shoulders of Mrs. Chung. The nice lady who owned the little convenience store in my office building.
After pulling into the parking lot (and my feet were swishy), I raced up the steps to Mrs. Chung’s.
As I dashed in, before my dismayed eyes, there were only Queen sized hosiery. The only thing that was even remotely in my size was a pair in an odd gray purple color.
Lunch. I told myself. If I could last until lunch, then I can run out and grab a pair then.
However, today was the day that we had to move desks around. Naturally, after the pantyhose morning that I’ve already had, the next issue was that my computer couldn’t hook up into the network.
Banefully, I stared at the clock. Only 10:30? My feet were swimming.
I grabbed my wallet and went downstairs to Mrs. Chung’s, bit the bullet and bought the pair of the odd gray-purple pair of hose.
Gratefully, I went to the rest room to put it on.
OH HORRORS!
I should have known. With all the bad pantyhose luck that I’ve had all day – why should I believe that the curse would have been lifted? The hose was horrible. It was coarse and had no elasticity. It felt like it was made of wires! It scratched and irritated my smooth legs. I whimpered as I pulled it up.
Then. The dreaded hanging crotch syndrome. Now, anyone who has ever worn a pair of tights or pantyhose knows what this problem is. It’s when, no matter how you pull and tug, the hose gradually slides down so that there is a gap between the hose and the crotch. There is an irresistible urge to pull them up, but when out in public (or at your desk at work, with a nosy coworker sitting a mere 10 feet away from you), there is no recourse but to suck it up, and waddle like a penguin.
Laugh as you will, but it is my deep belief that this issue is somehow tied into the fall of Atlantis.
The person that can guarantee a pair of hosiery that will NEVER hang in the crotch, will not only be rich, but will have the gratitude of women and drag queens everywhere.
Needless to say, after a mere half hour of this torture, I had no recourse but to take them off, and put my once again bare feet into those now hateful loafers.
I sat at my desk, barely concentrating on my work as I watched the minutes tick by. At the very stroke of noon, I grab my purse to take off for lunch – and to go buy a decent pair of hose.
I race to CVS, pushing blue haired old grannies and screaming brats out of my way, in my rush to get to the hosiery aisle. It beckoned me, like a gleaming beacon in the darkness of a pantyhoseless day. It called and the warm glow of its light enveloped me and drew me in.
There, standing at the foot of that aisle, I look down – as far as the eye can see an endless row of pantyhose!
As I float toward the nude section. I pick up a lovely pair in my size. I nearly did a dance of joy – and it was on sale too!
Of course, they didn’t have any control top…but at this point, I was just happy that I was able to get anything!
There are some, who may mock this pantyhose day – but I had discovered the true secret to happiness today. It’s not about the money or the looks or even having fun.
Happiness is having happy feet.