It was only a dream...

Every Christmas, my mother plays Santa and puts together a 'stocking' for all of the kids and grandkids. I put that in quotes because it's really not a stocking - it's a gift bag that she leaves outside of the bedroom doors on the morning we're going to celebrate (which may or may not be Christmas Day). The bags contain all kinds of small household things (toothpaste, hair pretties for the girls, travel kleenex, and the like), candy, puzzle books, and toys. It's my mom's way of being...well...a mom.

This past Christmas, much to my surprise, I opened my stocking to find two boxes of -

pantyhose.

L'eggs off-black, reinforced toe, control-top pantyhose.

I didn't have the heart to tell my mom that I'd given those up like a bad crack habit years ago. I made the move to garter belt and stockings. I don't have to list the reasons why. You know them all.

Let it suffice to say that I cringe now every time I think of stuffing my crotch into something that refuses to let it breathe. The girly bits have grown accustomed to a sort of freedom, you know?

So yesterday, I had an event to attend - a cocktail party in the city for a group that works with the homeless. As I was packing a bag to bring to work so I could change on the way there, I had a novel idea. Instead of laundering my last pair of snag-free stockings or stopping to buy a spare pair, I'd wear the pantyhose. How bad could it really be, right?

Wrong. I changed in the ladies' room at the office, and was horrified at the fact that my mother seems to have forgotten that I've lost a lot of weight. She had purchased size B - which I believe is shorthand for big. I put them on, and pulled them up.

and up.

and up.

to about four inches below my bra.

I felt like the creepy, dumpy woman with cankles who wears the big brown pants and snowman sweaters to work six months out of the year. It was utterly demoralizing.

I slipped on my pretty little black dress, cute pointy shoes, and tasteful jewelry. I then proceeded to waddle out of the building like a beached manatee. I got in the car, drove into the city, and told myself over and over, "feel pretty. feel pretty. feel pretty. no one can see your control-toppy goodness. You are going home alone. just feel pretty."

It would have been amusing, had I not felt horrendously ugly.

At the event, I slunk off to the restroom approximately every 37 minutes. I had to adjust, pull up the sagging ankles, and yell at myself for leaving the pretty lace garter belt in a drawer. It just wasn't right. I could hear it crying in loneliness from 40 miles away.

Perhaps it was my strange mindset, or the death grip of the reinforced-toe monstrosities, but I found the entire evening to be a bit surreal. I suppose it didn't help when a woman from the facility, who is obviously used to dealing more with the homeless than business people, started calling everyone over for the auction.

"Hey! Everybody get down here! It's time for the auction! Move down to this end of the hall now, you hear? I want everyone down here now - no excuses!"

I chuckled quietly, but was cut short in amazement at her next proclamation.

"HEY! You people down at the other end of the room at that mashed potato bar, get the FUCK away from the mashed potatoes!"

My friend Lynn and I turned to each other, jaws dropping open. It's not often you find yourself at a cocktail fundraiser where you're told to get the fuck away from anything, really.

Alas, I left the potatoes alone. I didn't think I could handle her wrath in the befuddled state in which I was operating. Unless, that is, I removed my pantyhose and strangled her with them.

Afterwards, I meandered the few blocks back to my car. I think my crotch was squeaking. I prayed for a quick, painless death.

As soon as I got in the car, I shimmied up my dress, yanked down the off-black ugliness, and fished a pair of conveniently-located sandals out of the back seat. As I approached the gate to exit the parking lot, I tied them in about 11 knots, made a freakish ball out of them, and tossed them out the window into a garbage can. Two men jogging by looked at me as if I had just landed from Mars.

I smiled sweetly at them and drove away.

The girl bits rejoiced, and we all lived happily ever after.

The end.