Monday, September 20, 2010

Keep yer pants on!

Could be worse; at least they aren't granny panties.

The expression, "Keep yer pants on," used to just mean, "Be patient!" But it has come to have a more literal meaning for me.

Because of my hours and where I worked in Colorado, I had a good 10- or 15-minute walk from my parking spot to the office, with no accessible buildings (read: bathrooms) in between. You would think that not much could go wrong in such a short period of time, but you would be wrong. Aside from the few times where I was struggling with a gastric attack and walking with eyes crossed (hey, it helps close all those sphincters), there was one occasion I do remember well. (Oh, yes, there were other memorable walks; I'll save those for another day.)

On the morning in question I had made an effort to look especially professional. I was actually wearing a skirt! And heels! And "slimming" pantyhose! And, um, a silky, "body-shaping undergarment." Not to be confused with a girdle. Because modern girls don't wear girdles. That's what our mothers wore, for Pete's sake. I had no intentions of eating or, well, breathing that day.

So I was looking fine, feeling confident, kind of struttin' my stuff.

About half way to the building from my parking spot, I felt an unusual tightening just below my waistband. I thought nothing of it.

Then the tightening gradually moved downward.

Gradually, it dawned on me what was happening: the waistband of my pantyhose was rolling down, unhampered by the slinky body-shaping undergarment girdle. (I'm trying hard to think of something OTHER THAN a condom to illustrate the way a pantyhose waistband rolls. I've failed.) As it did, the flesh above the descending band, um, relaxed over the band to prevent its rolling back UP, no matter how much I sucked in my gut. Now, if I had a NORMAL shape, my buttocks would probably have stopped the descent, but I have extreme white-girl butt: flat as a pancake. (On the bright side, it'll never sag. There is nothing TO sag.) Buttocks implants were invented with me in mind.* Combine that with a donut-eater's tummy, and you have a recipe for disaster.

(*Incidentally, here's why I will never have that surgery; skip to the 27-second mark:)

ANYWAY (What? Oh, yes, time to take my Ritalin. Thanks for the reminder.) .... So there I was, about 5 minutes from the front door of my building. I paused. I felt the pantyhose roll a bit more. I started walking again, carefully. There may have been missiles landing all around me or Ben Affleck waving to get my attention, but I was oblivious to anything aside from the rolling waistband. I did the calculations: would I be able to make it to the sanctuary of the lobby (and the adjoining restroom) before the pantyhose passed my crotch? Or would I have to waddle in with legs splayed, holding the pantyhose above my hemline?

Yah, classy, eh? I always strive to be elegant at work.

Don't always succeed.

I made it. Just. I never wore that particular combination of pantyhose and girdle again.

1 comment:

  1. this picture of the famous tennis player with her panties down at her knees...did this really happen? if yes, why didn't she pull it up and then play?


What did you think? Any comments?

Related Posts

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...