Have you ever been bebopping down the aisles at the grocery minding your own business and suddenly you feel like you’re being followed? But you turn around to look and realize it’s just your own big behind? Ugh. Okay, you know you’ve packed a few onto the old caboose, but holidays, birthday parties and special celebrations, weekend getaways – they seem to crop up every week and it’s tough to deprive yourself of the abundant and yummy food that goes along. Then one day it hits home and you know – it’s time – to do something.
My hair and makeup were done and I’d picked out the skirt and top for church that morning. I sat on the edge of the bed control top pantyhose in hand. As I rolled them onto my legs I had to twist and turn a bit, but I managed to get them up. Hmmm – I thought – this waistband is a little stretched. The big toe on my right foot was bent up slightly, too, but I stood, re-adjusted a bit and felt all snugged in. Good. Off I went.
I hopped out of the car in the church parking lot and had to do a little hitch up. I slid my hand between my skirt and top and tugged. There – should be good for the next few hours. I ignored the slight burning sensation where the pantyhose met between my thighs and went to choir practice hoping no sparks would fly from the friction. We didn’t need That kind of fire at the service.
I can’t remember what our choir anthem was, but it included some four measure phrases. This required breath control and when I filled the old diaphram I felt my control tops cry out. I was momentarily alarmed, but the waistband held. Then just before the service I did another little hitch up. Okay, now. That should do it. I went to find my pew.
In the Lutheran church there’s a lot of standing, sitting, and kneeling during the service. We do the standard stand to praise, sit to learn and kneel to pray thing. Well, around about communion time ol’ Chubs here reached the pinnacle of her struggle with the pantyhose. I rose from my pew, waited in the aisle, walked to the altar rail and kneeled. Sacrament received, I stood to return to my pew and about halfway there I felt that stinkin’ waistband just give up on me.
With each step back up the side aisle I felt it roll, and roll and roll – when sorrows like sea billows roll – from the old hymn bipped through my head. Down went my taupe pantyhose, relentlessly, over my lumpy hips and heading for the floor. Eeek! I tried to keep the panic off my face. How could I do a hitch right here in front of God and everybody? I tried to control my walk so the rotten L’eggs would stop rolling but the sea billows were winning. I walked past my pew, my eye on the double doors at the back. With as much dignity as I could muster I waddled straight into the narthex and down the stairs to the ladies room. By then they were almost at my knees and in their death throes.
I couldn’t help the giggles as I removed the poor taupe colored traitors right there in the stall. With a resigned sigh I returned for the remainder of the service bare legged. The poor pantyhose had only just lived through the challenge of a lifetime and were balled up in my handbag. I was witness to their last gasp; a huge sigh of relief.
My ‘one day’ had come and shortly thereafter I began my diet (see Susan's Extras). I lost twenty two pounds and have kept most of it off these past two years.
Oh - and another thought ladies. You must rely on Jesus for your salvation because even the best pantyhose will eventually let you down! Let mine be a cautionary tale.
Image: AKARAKINGDOMS Free Digital Photos