This week I found myself doing something I hadn’t done in years — wear self destructing clothing. You’ll have to imagine the scenario. It’s about a billion degrees outside, but I have a follow up interview with a mega corporation.
I’ve already worn the conservative black pantsuit — so, now that I’m meeting with the folks in HR, I figure it’s best to wear the ultra conservative blue suit. You know the one — knee length skirt and all that. So Sunday finds me pulling my hair out (figuratively) as I realize, I don’t have any stockings.
Yes, stockings. Though it’s L.A., I figure I can’t go bare legged for my follow up interview — after all corporate culture is still conservative.
You’ll just have to imagine me frantically running around looking for stockings. I realized quickly before going out that I didn’t own a pair. And frankly, I couldn’t remember the last time I had.
You see, I don’t believe in stockings. I can’t imagine that women voluntarily wear clothing that can self destruct in just seconds. It’s implausible. I have bad memories of having to get dressed up and the tiniest little snag from the floor or a fingernail — would leave you in a tailspin.
Despite, these long held beliefs, here I was in a department store, checking height and weight requirements. Don’t even get me started about those. I wish they had stockings for long legged, petite women — because invariably, I end up with a pair that end mid thigh.
So, I made it — no tears, snags, or runs. What do I do with the stockings. They always seemed like an expensive one use item. How do you wash them, where do you keep them, snag free. Am I going to have to get out that nail polish to keep them from running?
With all the advances of modern man (and woman) where are those indestructible stockings?
foleydog
Vortigern
