Hosed!

My experiences with tights and pantyhose have never been great. Some of my earlier memories are of my mom trying to get my cable-knits up my chubby child legs as I squirmed with every awful pinch of her nails. Even then, I chose fashion over comfort. Or I guess my mom chose it for me as I probably would have wanted to go to school in my bathing suit and Wonder Woman bracelets, but you get the idea.

Today, the problem with hosiery is still all about getting them - and keeping them - up. I buy the correct size of pantyhose every time (at least according to the charts on the back of the package), and yet, without fail, it seems as though they were made for someone a foot shorter than me. It's an unsexy battle to get the hosiery's crotch up to its parking spot and one that I have to fight each time I go to the washroom.

What's worse though, is when the shimmy or the roll-down happens. You'll be sitting or standing there, and suddenly the waist part will just give up and start rolling down to your hips like Frank's Slide. It's a bad, bad feeling - especially when you're in public as I was this evening at our staff's holiday dinner party.

What makes the Roll-Down particularly special is when you're sitting and your skirt's waist line is still where it should be and your panty-hose roll has rested just above your lap - creating a magnificently accented gut. Very nice.

And then, when you stand-up - you can only pray that the hose roll stays where it is (precariously at your hips) and doesn't decide to just keep on' truckin' southbound. If this happens, your range of motion gets stunted and you have to get yourself over to a bathroom pronto - all the while looking like one of those hilarious bastards in March Of The Penguins.

I'm sure it doesn't help that I buy the world's cheapest pantyhose ever - never with the control-top or control-thighs or control-the-universe features. Perhaps I should look into that.