Friday, January 20, 2006

Confessions of a 30 year old serial pantyhose killer or how I nearly did a Sharon Stone to my new officemates.

They’ve never done anything to me so there is no reason for me to be so malicious. It’s involuntary really. I can’t help myself.

I know I have a problem. I try to avoid wearing any type of hosiery. When I can get away with bare legs, I do so but the weather has dipped I find myself forced into this torrid relationship with these nylon temptresses.

I never had a problem before. Ever since I was 5 I’ve had to wear some form of hosiery. I attended parochial school. Opaque tights were the best way to keep your legs warm while wearing a plaid skirt. BTW, in grammar school, my uniform was the exact uniform used in the 25th annual Putnam Valley Spelling Bee. I laugh every time I see the Asian girl in the billboards.

I was in the brownies and girl scouts. Brown and Green tights were standard. I took ballet where I wore pink tights. So my entire day was spent in some form of colored tights. I always kept my tights in good condition too. I disliked the look of torn stockings. I never understood why there always was a girl with a 3 inch hole around their left knee.

My legs had their first taste of freedom in college when hosiery was replaced with jeans and long hippie skirts. My jobs after college all were in the IT sector where personal interaction was kept to a minimum. The jeans and sneakers phase though came to an abrupt end when I moved to client/vendor relations. I guess that’s when I started my killing spree.

A day would not go by where I didn’t rip or tear my pantyhose. I resorted to stockings so I could easily change the leg that was mutilated. I tried prevention measures. I’d wear gloves to put them on. I took off all jewelry that may cause a snag. I’d purposely walk the long route around a desk to avoid getting caught on corners or protruding objects. No matter what I did, I’d always have some mishap.

My budget for hosiery steadily increased. If you calculate the price per item and its life expectancy, I’m pretty sure I surpass my budget for any other clothing item, including shoes.

I’m not sure if these mass killings are signs of a rebellious nature or if by sheer fate Ha. Sheer I’ve become a repository for those who in a past life did something terribly wrong to a human leg.

I suppose I could try to recoup the money I spent on pantyhose by selling my torn ones online. Aren’t there ripped pantyhose fetishists? There seems to be a fetish freak for everything. I’m just not sure that’s the right road to be following. Maybe that’s what leads to reincarnation in the form of Pantrygirl’s pantyhose.

This confession comes after I ripped my favorite pair of Victoria’s Secret low waist sheer pantyhose. It’s not that I ripped them that caused the confession but how in spectacular fashion I did it.

I wear my id on a lanyard. It contains my building pass key and my office key. During this morning’s faculty meeting, (Yes, the 7:30am one), I got up to grab a copy of the case review. As I began to sit down, I felt a tug on my right leg. I looked down and noticed skirt was pulled up and my key fob on my lanyard was stuck in my inner right thigh. I felt the burst of the nylon and knew my pantyhose was ruined. In less than 2 hours, no less.

I tried to sit down so I could release the id without every single faculty member watching me fiddle with my inner thigh when my lanyard tensed. I was stuck in a 45 degree angle with my butt jutting out in front of the person behind me. I tried straightening up but this too was not doable. With each movement I made I continued to cause running.

I fervently arched my back forward to try to loosen my id necklace from my pantyhose but the key fob hook somehow shimmied its way into my pantyhose. In front of my new colleagues, I had to hike my skirt even higher and detach my key fob from my inner right thigh.

Talk about making an introduction.

I’m now sitting here with a 1 inch hole and half inch wide run that goes from my thigh down to my calf. I’d change but I have three meetings and an office party to go to tonight and I don’t want to run the risk of being without pantyhose for tonight’s party. So I’m waiting until 5pm to change into the fresh pair.

Now that I’ve shared my embarrassment with not only my fellow colleagues but the blogosphere, I’m going to wallow by eating a blueberry scone.