For the first time in several years, Mac’s company decided to have a Christmas Party. Sounded good to me…food, drinks, and maybe a little entertainment.
And then I saw the actual invitation and those dreaded words appeared like tiny reindeer on Christmas Eve:
Did we REALLY want to go? I decided to look up ‘semi-formal attire’ just to make sure I hadn’t forgotten what that meant, since it had been years since I’d worn anything other than jeans, yoga pants and long skirts.
Turns out ‘semi-formal attire’ is VERY specific. Velvet, satin, silk, ‘good’ polyester (there are good and bad polyesters??? Who knew?). I dug around in my closet and found a ‘little black dress’ I wore on a cruise about 6 years ago and with a little help from Spanx, pantyhose small breaths, and a lot of standing, I felt sure I’d be able to wear it just fine.
I bought the pantyhose in the egg and double-checked the size…yep, all those grid marks told me was that a giant range of people could fit this size and I was lucky enough to be one of them.
By the way…they lie.
The evening arrived, along with questionable decision-making. I got ready and began to get dressed, thinking I had better hurry up if I wanted to make sure I wasn’t naked when the babysitter arrived. I sat down and pulled the golden silk from the egg, slightly excited that my legs would be all soft, and silky skinned, if only for a few hours.
I was careful not to snag the precious nylons on toenails or rough heels, maneuvering slowly over each as I pulled the first leg up to my knee.
Bending over in the chair for that long was a little tiring, but I knew I had to get the other leg on so I pushed on and kept bending. I managed to get the 2nd leg covered and the hose pulled up to my knee as well, but this is where things get ugly.
As I gently pulled the hose up and over my knees, I realized things weren’t quite like they should be. As a matter of fact, things completely stopped as I got to my thighs. Seems the hose were completely twisted, even though I was so very careful to keep them straight. There was a line of nylon threatening to cut all circulation off my right leg, wrapped tighter than Dick’s hatband (who the hell is Dick, anyway?), and not budging at all. It made an indention, actually cutting into my thigh and I began to worry I might pass out if I didn’t quickly remove the offending nylon.
About this time, Mac walks in the bedroom and gives me a strange look. I might have appeared slightly haggard and a little sweaty. My makeup might have been ‘glistening’….I MIGHT have looked at him and said something along the lines of, “Why don’t YOU put on pantyhose sometimes and see how it feels!!” at a slightly louder than normal speech tone.
He mumbled something foolish about being sure those pantyhose weren’t meant to do that and decided it was in his best interest to leave the bedroom until I was ready.
So I began to disengage the tourniquet that wrapped around my leg, and in doing so, managed to get the entire pair of pantyhose stuck somewhere between my thighs and above my knees, with the crotch just out of reach. If I reached around my backside, I couldn’t reach the center to pull them up, and if I bent over frontward to pull them up, I was only able to pull up part of them.
I wondered at that point if yoga pants were considered ‘semi-formal’ in any culture in the world and if I had time to look that information up and study enough to pass myself off as a resident of whatever culture that was before we left.
I made one final gesture to pull them up, leaning forward and pulling with both hands, jerking hard enough to hear to all to familiar rip of nylon tearing and a run beginning from the toe and continuing to the knee. Which made it MUCH easier to just tear them off and throw them away! Luckily I had an old pair of tights, light enough to pass as ‘in an emergency’ and lemme tell ya, THIS was an emergency! I pulled them on, slipped on my dress and said a small prayer that they’d last until at least dessert.
The story should end there, but it didn’t…..I partook of the wine and Mac had a few beers. When the company photographer came around to each table to take pictures, I politely held my glass in front of my face, while Mac grabbed his glass and proceeded to slug back whatever remnants remained.
I totally blame it on the pantyhose….
Thanks for reading what I write. If you think it’s funny, please share it so other people can laugh, too. You want others to laugh, right? 🙂