pantyhose



some people exist in this world for the sole purpose of being nonplussed by pantyhose. i appear to be one of those people. runs or ladders are the least of my problems (although the speed with which they happen leaves me open-mouthed.) what do you do about panty hose that, for no reason whatsoever, erupts at the knees, or catch on unsuspected splinters of wood and become mangled, or, as they did this morning, when i flopped down in bed to finish my greek homework, stick to the velcro fastenings on my coat as i rolled over it? the coat came with me when i got up, and caused instant fireworks when i tried to peel it off me. when i was fifteen and on a date, wearing a short dress, i was in a cafe that had rattan chairs and the rip that ensued was horrifying, and i had to sit right back down again, while my flustered date ran out to the nearest departmental store for some new ones. i could have, i supposed, just taken it off altogether, but i was so mortified then i didn't think of it. but pantyhose that rip is preferable to pantyhose that is invisible. much later, when they reveal themselves again, you will find that they have made their way under beds, between sheets, behind boxes, onto shelves and sometimes inside shoes. today, when i fished in my school bag for my phone, i found instead a single black stocking, the thigh-high kind which i thought was convenient but have now forsworn, because i couldn't get them to stay up for more than 30mins at a stretch. most things designed to stay up generally do not - gravity will have its way. i once wrote an absurdly melodramatic short story about pantyhose for yeo sooling's english class. (gee, i even wrote about plasticine, for goodness sake)