I do not like high heels…never have. I think they are torture devices. They were created by the same person who thought up panty hose…another unfortunate invention forced upon women. My husband, however, likes those high heels…which of course necessitates a pair of panty hose.
We had a formal event to attend few years back, and he specifically asked that I not wear those house shoes (meaning flats) to the event. I agreed and went out and bought a pair of very nice looking high heels. And, I bought a pair of panty hose. I even decided to buy a new dress to match my new shoes. I figured since he was paying…I wanted him to get a bang for his buck. I looked pretty spiffy…and DH even said the other ‘s’ word…sexy! Our boys were so impressed with our dressed up selves….they even took pictures. They pulled the truck up to the door and had such fun watching their dad , in his tux, escorting me, Miss Fancy Nancy! That was for sure the best part of the evening. (Only in the Deep South do you go to formal events in a pick-up truck. It’s not like I didn’t have a perfectly good CAR we could go in.) But, I digress.
I felt pretty proud of myself…I had managed to walk to the car without mishap. We arrived at our local Civic Center, and parked about 2 miles away. “I can do this,” I told myself, “I can sit down as soon as I get in.” But the more I walked, the more I realized that I made 1 tiny miscalculation. Seeing as how I had not worn panty hose in several years, I kind of misjudged the sizing …just a tad. It seemed the more I walked…the further down my lower half they scooted. Which in turn caused the roll of excess me that resides around my middle region to pop up over the panty of the panty hose. And the more I walked the more of me escaped the confines of the ‘control top’. Some control! I had on a slip, which was a necessity with the dress I was wearing, and when the little muffin top made a run for it…the slip just slipped up on top of the mid section. All of which made for a cushy little roll- mid dress. Meanwhile we are walking into the shin-dig. As I am trying to gracefully walk like a lady, my tender tootsies are screaming…nigh on to profanities…”GET US OUT OF HERE NOW!” I was in trouble, my friends…big trouble. I prayed our table was close to the door…it was at the furthest point from the door! And, you wonder if God has a sense of humor? I sat…and all the surrounding flesh happily deposits itself in my lap…as the hose scoot down just a little further in the back. I begin to plot how to tastefully get the hose off the body without anyone seeing. Prayer! That’s when I will make my move…when they bless the food. Maybe I can scoot out the door when they are praying. Good plan. Guess who says the blessing…DH. And guess what everyone else does…stand up. There is now no path to the door…I am trapped. If they would just scoot on down past the bottom of me, I maybe could yank them off under the table. No, they’re stuck..halfway down in the back, but all the way down in the front. I KNOW you girls know what I mean! RATS! At least I can take my shoes off. I ever so kindly declined to stand at any of the standing ovations…and spend the whole program praying earnestly for some help from above…to save my sorry soul. As the festivities are drawing to a close, I slipped my shoes back on…I tried to slip my shoes back on…I had to reach down and TUG my shoes back on. All the binding about my nether regions had caused my feet to swell…I was afraid…really afraid…to stand up. I had no idea what was going to happen next. I asked DH to go and get the car and pick me up at the door. “Ah, come on, a little walk never hurt anyone!” he said.
Luckily, he talked to a lot of folks before we left and I sort of faded back when I could. Most of the people had left when we finally made our exit. And then, DH turned to me and said, “Come on, let me see you walk in those sexy high heels!”..as I was trying to gracefully make my way across the Civic Center parking lot, with one hand strategically placed on my back to hold the last bit of panty still covering its assigned position, and trying to keep our name from being the laughing stock of the town. Oh, yes he did! I, oh so carefully, bent down and removed the shoes from my feet…and walked barefoot…or stocking feet across the parking lot. “You are going to ruin your hose”, he said. Little did he know that I had plans to use those hose to commit a crime later on that night. I made it to the truck,and got in, and yanked the offending garment from my body…which was quite easy since they were finally down to my thighs! And then, I got out of the truck and walked to the rusty, old garbage can nearby…and threw the silky nightmare into the can. I walked back to the car and got in. “What did you throw away?, DH asked. “Those ****** pantyhose,” I answered. “Well, pantyhose did not make all that noise! You must have thrown away something else.” “You think so, D?”
This ‘lovely evening’ re-entered my mind as I was toiling in the closet, and came upon the dress. What to do? Since the other parts of the outfit are lying in a landfill now, I might as well dump the dress. I will put it with the clothes going to charity. This brings us to RULE # 9…NEVER…N.E.V.E.R wear clothes or shoes to an event that YOU do not feel comfortable in. You will not enjoy yourself, you will not enjoy the party, and you may end up trashing part of the ensemble at the end of the evening to the tune of over $150.00! I’m just saying…
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