Story the third

Remember how I said the wedding knocked my socks off? It really did! Well, one sock. See, I'm generally opposed to pantyhose, especially the full length ones, because they're difficult to get on straight so you end up feeling all twisted up and out of sorts. And then if you make the mistake of getting the hideous control-top ones, you feel like a sausage, stuffed and encased, and, weirdly enough, bulgy, which seems to defeat the whole control-top point. And then they make you all hot and sweaty in places where you'd prefer not to be (though don't buy into the Summer's Eve commercials that try to convince you that you should smell like roses down there). Point being, panythose? Suck.

But I wore closed-toe shoes at my wedding and I just knew my feet would be unhappy and blistery and the end of the night if I passed on nylons. So, my options: full-length pantyhose, knee-highs, or thigh-highs. You know how I feel about the full-length ones, I think. The knee-highs, while practical, make me feel too grandmotherly. Not that anyone would even KNOW I was wearing them, but I would know and that's enough for me. So thigh-highs, right? They sounds perfect: they don't bind your mid-section, they give your feet the necessary protection from your shoes, and hot damn, thigh highs are sexy. Heh.

So I got 'em. I checked out the band that's supposed to hug your thighs and noticed they had a nice wide elastic band that negates the need for garters. Awesome, right? Well, if you pay $18 for a single pair of thigh-high stockings, they'd better be awesome. And they were. I pulled them on and I felt like I was in one of those Hanes commercials, where every step is bouncy and I feel like I'm walking on clouds! Get dressed, get in the car with the girls, get to the Queen Mary for pictures. We're walking through the parking lot and suddenly...uh-oh. I feel this telltale...tug. "Um...hold on. One of my stockings is starting to slip." I discreetly hitched my skirt up a little, reached up and adjusted the stocking and kept walking. Thirty seconds later, I feel another slip, so the girls make a protective "barrier" around me so I can hike my skirt up over my knee and pull the stocking up. In the parking lot. Classy, no?

Not 10 seconds later, I feel it slip again but we're almost to the ship's entrance, so I figure I'll go inside to the bathroom to fix this. Five more steps and the entire stocking has tumbled down to my ankle, flapping with every step. Man, there is NOTHING sexier than having your pantyhose flopped around your ankle. Nothing. So I whipped it off and...handed it off to my sister, all wadded up. Yes, the pantyhose that my foot had been in. Nice, eh?* In the end, I had to go with the full length pantyhose I'd brought as back up. And guess what? I'd accidentally bought control tops! Gah!

*The girls were great about shit like that all night. I was chewing gum as we went to meet our photographer for pictures, but didn't have anywhere to spit my gum. So dear Mae, bless her heart, offered her hand and yes, sadly, I spit my chewed gum into it. I think we even did it a second time so we could get a picture of it. Friends like that make this life worthwhile.