When I was a teacher, kids often marveled at my tights and stockings. Like a good pasty Southern girl, I can’t go bare-legged. It doesn’t matter if there’s a heat index of 110 degrees. The risk of blinding someone is too great. Wearing stockings labeled “Nude,” “Nude Bisque,” and/or “Almost Albino” enables the masses to go on seeing.
My former students were amazed that stockings were made to match such fair skin. They were also amazed that they could barely tell I wore stockings. “They look like real skin!” they’d exclaim. “There aren’t any wrinkles!” I didn’t really get what that was all about. Filene’s Basement, kiddos. $3.00.
A few months ago, I had to go to a Pay Half near my workplace to buy another pair of black tights. I’d seen Pay Half in Harlem, but had never bought anything there. Earlier that morning, a subway door closed on my leg, leaving a long white crust. I didn’t want to even think about the individual elements of the crust, so I bought new tights on my lunch break. I reuse tights as long as they aren’t ripped or infected, so I put the Pay Half pair in my drawer for later use.
I wore them Tuesday, and oh dear, what a mistake. Turns out, Pay Half tights are good for a few hours of use before they start to sag. By the time I was on the subway and riding home from work, the tights were pooling at my ankles. I looked like Bjork in the fetish tights and swan dress! Of course, I was wearing a pencil skirt that juxtaposed the sliding, baggy leg coverage. The wind seemed to shake out every last bit of snap in the tights. I felt like I was wearing footed gauchos.
Sadly, when I got home, I still had to have a long conversation in my head before I could throw them out. “They were $2,” I told myself. “How often do you use nylon for arts and crafts projects? Never! How could the laundry people possibly change the laws of physics and fix these? Impossible!”
You are too funny. I love this story!