No news to any woman on this fashion-wired planet but oh my gawd pantyhose are just the stupidest thing since gallbladders. (I haven't had my gallbladder since 1987 and haven't missed it one iota. What the heck is it there for anyway? A space filler? Like the Great Creator had a hole where the liver and onions were sliding into and so invented an organ in which to store stones from the heavenly driveway? Why doesn't he just get it paved? So much easier to plow in the wintertime. And why the feck did he invent winter anyway? Fecking winter. Fecking gallbladders.)
Where was I? Oh yeah. Fecking pantyhose.
I was at a funeral yesterday – I know. You're all sad now. Don't be. It was a fabulous funeral. One of the nicest I've been to. If you have to go on and die, which I don't recommend, you might as well have a fabulous funeral. With great guest speakers and terrific music and photos that make you smile and cry all at the same time. Not to mention those fancy funeral sandwiches. (By the way, I'll really miss you, Bill. Hugs.)
But where was I again? Oh yeah. Fecking pantyhose. Why, why, WHY are these things so STUPID? The ones in my lingerie drawer (not the dildo drawer from yesterday, in case you were thinking that, which you totally were, don't deny it) were like Goldilocks pantyhose: they were either too baggy, making my ankles look like a shar-pei; or they were so tight that I couldn't get the crotch up past my knees. Stupid control top pantyhose. They're like wrestling a freaking BEAR. Can anyone get them on? Anyone? (Sounding just now like Ferris Bueller's teacher.) I swear to gawd they were designed to fit your ARMS, not your legs.
So I went through three fits of blue angst trying to get them on yesterday, finally winding up in such a sweaty state of mess that I needed another shower and had to start all over again. Needed one, but didn't take one, because by this point I was resigned to to never taking off the stupid control top pantyhose ever again. Ever. Even to go to the bathroom. Which I immediately had to do. Like, seriously? How old am I? Don't I tell my own children to go pee before they put on their snowsuits? And aren't pantyhose just like snowsuits only they're transparent and don't keep you warm and are just actually the stupidest things since gallbladders?
And yeah, when I was pulling them back up I put my fecking fingernail through 'em and caused a big fecking hole. Big enough to drive a gallbladder through.
Sigh.
