Warning! Holiday Pantyhose Alert!

You think I’m kidding, that I wouldn’t dare issue a pantyhose alert, probably because I have promised on more than one occasion to cease and desist from posting ever again about panties, bras, pantyhose, girdles, and etcetera. But believe me, I’m doing this for you.

Consider this a public service announcement.

Ladies, if you have purchased or intend to purchase a pair of No Nonsense Great Shapes Tights, beware! In the process of applying them, you will likely incur more aerobic benefit than you have in every Curves session of 2004. Either that, or you’ll suffer a heart attack and when the paramedics arrive, they’ll find you in, let’s just say, a compromising position.

Here’s the fine print on the package: “ALL OVER SHAPER with a vertical rib pattern for a slimming effect. Slims your tummy, hips and thighs.”

I’m no fool, at least not where undergarments are concerned. You don’t survive to reach your 51st birthday without gaining some wisdom about how the world works. Trust me when I say that when the world DOES work, it’s largely because of underwear.

I’ve known since I was a teenager and first gave up my garter belt and seamed stockings for new-fangled pantyhose that the weight charts on the back of the package are a bunch of hooey. You always, ALWAYS need to purchase at least one size bigger than the chart indicates for your size, unless you want to end up hoseless for the prom or something.

So, since I’m actually a size A, I bought my tights in a size B. For a 5’2” chick, a size B is meant to cover the legs and rear end of anyone who weighs between 135 and 175. I weigh less than 135. Trust me when I tell you that when I weighed 175, these tights wouldn’t have fit onto my ARM.

I wasn’t too surprised when I opened the package and the tights looked long and, well, slim. That’s the way they always look. I’ve never approached a new, unstretched pair of pantyhose without a huge surge of faith in the supernatural. If I can worm my way into THOSE, I think, I’ll never doubt God again.

Today was different. Today’s encounter nearly caused me to lose my religion, and just when the Christmas spirit had descended upon me in all its beauty.

Sitting on the edge of the tub, I got my left foot in just fine, thank you. I even pulled the left leg of the tights all the way up to my knee before gasping from the sudden pain of the astonishing constriction. I rested for a moment, adjusting to the agony, cheerful at least for the way it took my mind off my migraine.

A little strategizing caused me to discern that I would need to gather the right side in my hands, starting with the waist and ending with the toe, before attempting to insert my right foot. I soon found that concentrated gathering while in the throes of a vascular accident (the constriction of my left knee) is no small feat. Pun intended.

I valiently pulled my right knee up to my chest, the starting position it would unfortunately need to be in to get my right foot into the toe of the tights, since they were now gathered into a bunch adjacent to my withering left knee. I managed to get my five toes into the space alloted for them and started drawing the tights upward, hoping to achieve at least symmetrical pain with the other leg.

Just then, my beleaguered right toes began cramping, and immediately the cramp spread to my whole foot, up my leg into my calf. I was still stuck with my knee in my chest and unwilling to relinquish the little progress I’d made, but what choice did I have?

I yanked my right foot from the tights, jumped up and pounded out the cramps which, I found, was difficult to do with no circulation in my left leg.

“You haven’t heard the last of me,” I heard myself say as I hobbled back to my perch on the tub. “One of us will emerge the victor today, and it won’t be you.”

Before making another stab at the right leg of the tights, I massaged my toes for reinforcement. “Hold on for just another minute,” I reassured them. “Don’t fail me now.”

I managed to finish the job. It wasn’t pretty. In the process of inching the tights true north, I condensed many angry body parts, which much prefer to occupy more space. I witnessed with my own eyes configurations of flesh which no one should have to see, the images burning themselves upon my sensibilities.

Thirty minutes have passed, and my migraine’s back with a vengeance—a good sign, I’m thinking. My breathing and pulse are gradually returning to normal. But you know as well as I do that after passing through a trauma like this, normal can never be the same again.

Mark my words, and let this be a warning to you.

Posted by Katy on 12/18/04 at 11:31 AM

Fallible Comments...

You made me laugh so hard I almost peed my pants! Thanks, I needed that today!
-----
Posted by Carrie K. on 12/18/04 at 09:12 PM
"I've never approached a new, unstretched pair of pantyhose without a huge surge of faith in the supernatural. "

HA!! You sure do know how to snag those subterranean thoughts we (women at least) have all had and lay them bare. Great post! (And, since it's time for me to get ready for church, guess what I'm about to do?!)
Posted by violet on 12/19/04 at 03:57 PM
Katy, Katy!
Ditch the pantyhose and go for the "low-rise" jeans/pants/whatevers that are out there these day . . . a whole lotta room, for at least bellies, in those low-rise.
Thanks for the laugh!
Posted by Susan on 12/21/04 at 03:42 AM
Ladies--I don't know about you, but I have a strict "policy of containment." If it jiggles, wiggles, or flaps in the breeze, it's covered. And sometimes by a fabric with a significant elasticity content!

I had some SERIOUS low-rise bell-bottoms, size 3, when I was 19. But my stomach was FLAT and usually (if not always--I can't quite remember...) I wore either a long peasant top which more than met the jeans, or tucked a top in and wore an enormously wide belt.

That said, I'll confess to being caught on the Jumbo-tron at an Elton John concert at Royals Stadium, circa 1972, in a midriff top that tied in a knot in the front. That scrap of fabric was good for nothing but...getting your picture splashed before 20,000 people.

I think that was my last public display, but even then it didn't wiggle, giggle or flap in the breeze!
Posted by Katy Raymond on 12/21/04 at 03:42 PM
Oh my goodness (wiping eyes with a kleenex)
I laughed so hard, I was crying. I gave up pantyhose about the time I required Queens.
I now wear long skirts to church. No one need
know. Those contraptions are a torture chamber. Thanks for the belly laugh!
Posted by Candace Pfau on 12/25/04 at 12:16 AM
Candace--Happy to be of service! :)
Posted by Katy Raymond on 01/03/05 at 04:14 PM
too, too funny katy...for me, it started with brightly colored tights that somehow never ended up reaching "true north" in that charming little girl way, then progressed to teen size hose for a very brief spell in early junior high...past this, i had become a firm believer that nylons had been created by some snickering man who would never have to pull such garments over his hairy legs and knobby knees, and no way was i going to fall prey to such exploitation as a progressive woman. nowadays, rarely, i will not be able to pass up some really cute black or olive green patterented tights for the winter while shopping, but even these get worn only once or twice a season. i wonder, will this change as i get older? hmm...

at any rate, thanks for another true life account told only how you can!

justadjust.blogspot.com
Posted by lisa on 01/07/05 at 02:30 AM

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Personal blog of christian writer & fallible mom Katy McKenna Raymond in Kansas City, Missouri Katy is represented by Greg Johnson at WordServe Literary Read more Katy at LateBoomer.net Follow Katy on Twitter Follow Katy on Facebook 123 Recent Posts Try Becoming Brenda Starr Off Beat Scattered That’s It So I’ve Finally Signed With An Agent. Now What? The Spoon Sciatica Sweetheart A Woman’s Train of Thought Has No Caboose However much we own, we are all still living on borrowed time After all, when restaurants shrink portions, they don’t shrink prices. As with everything in life, balance is key. Slow down, you move too fast… Yeah, I know. I have issues. Search Advanced Search Syndicate Login E me at katy @ ngenius.com	Warning! Holiday Pantyhose Alert! You think I’m kidding, that I wouldn’t dare issue a pantyhose alert, probably because I have promised on more than one occasion to cease and desist from posting ever again about panties, bras, pantyhose, girdles, and etcetera. But believe me, I’m doing this for you. Consider this a public service announcement. Ladies, if you have purchased or intend to purchase a pair of No Nonsense Great Shapes Tights, beware! In the process of applying them, you will likely incur more aerobic benefit than you have in every Curves session of 2004. Either that, or you’ll suffer a heart attack and when the paramedics arrive, they’ll find you in, let’s just say, a compromising position. Here’s the fine print on the package: “ALL OVER SHAPER with a vertical rib pattern for a slimming effect. Slims your tummy, hips and thighs.” I’m no fool, at least not where undergarments are concerned. You don’t survive to reach your 51st birthday without gaining some wisdom about how the world works. Trust me when I say that when the world DOES work, it’s largely because of underwear. I’ve known since I was a teenager and first gave up my garter belt and seamed stockings for new-fangled pantyhose that the weight charts on the back of the package are a bunch of hooey. You always, ALWAYS need to purchase at least one size bigger than the chart indicates for your size, unless you want to end up hoseless for the prom or something. So, since I’m actually a size A, I bought my tights in a size B. For a 5’2” chick, a size B is meant to cover the legs and rear end of anyone who weighs between 135 and 175. I weigh less than 135. Trust me when I tell you that when I weighed 175, these tights wouldn’t have fit onto my ARM. I wasn’t too surprised when I opened the package and the tights looked long and, well, slim. That’s the way they always look. I’ve never approached a new, unstretched pair of pantyhose without a huge surge of faith in the supernatural. If I can worm my way into THOSE, I think, I’ll never doubt God again. Today was different. Today’s encounter nearly caused me to lose my religion, and just when the Christmas spirit had descended upon me in all its beauty. Sitting on the edge of the tub, I got my left foot in just fine, thank you. I even pulled the left leg of the tights all the way up to my knee before gasping from the sudden pain of the astonishing constriction. I rested for a moment, adjusting to the agony, cheerful at least for the way it took my mind off my migraine. A little strategizing caused me to discern that I would need to gather the right side in my hands, starting with the waist and ending with the toe, before attempting to insert my right foot. I soon found that concentrated gathering while in the throes of a vascular accident (the constriction of my left knee) is no small feat. Pun intended. I valiently pulled my right knee up to my chest, the starting position it would unfortunately need to be in to get my right foot into the toe of the tights, since they were now gathered into a bunch adjacent to my withering left knee. I managed to get my five toes into the space alloted for them and started drawing the tights upward, hoping to achieve at least symmetrical pain with the other leg. Just then, my beleaguered right toes began cramping, and immediately the cramp spread to my whole foot, up my leg into my calf. I was still stuck with my knee in my chest and unwilling to relinquish the little progress I’d made, but what choice did I have? I yanked my right foot from the tights, jumped up and pounded out the cramps which, I found, was difficult to do with no circulation in my left leg. “You haven’t heard the last of me,” I heard myself say as I hobbled back to my perch on the tub. “One of us will emerge the victor today, and it won’t be you.” Before making another stab at the right leg of the tights, I massaged my toes for reinforcement. “Hold on for just another minute,” I reassured them. “Don’t fail me now.” I managed to finish the job. It wasn’t pretty. In the process of inching the tights true north, I condensed many angry body parts, which much prefer to occupy more space. I witnessed with my own eyes configurations of flesh which no one should have to see, the images burning themselves upon my sensibilities. Thirty minutes have passed, and my migraine’s back with a vengeance—a good sign, I’m thinking. My breathing and pulse are gradually returning to normal. But you know as well as I do that after passing through a trauma like this, normal can never be the same again. Mark my words, and let this be a warning to you. Posted by Katy on 12/18/04 at 11:31 AM Fallible Comments... You made me laugh so hard I almost peed my pants! Thanks, I needed that today! ----- Posted by Carrie K. on 12/18/04 at 09:12 PM "I've never approached a new, unstretched pair of pantyhose without a huge surge of faith in the supernatural. " HA!! You sure do know how to snag those subterranean thoughts we (women at least) have all had and lay them bare. Great post! (And, since it's time for me to get ready for church, guess what I'm about to do?!) Posted by violet on 12/19/04 at 03:57 PM Katy, Katy! Ditch the pantyhose and go for the "low-rise" jeans/pants/whatevers that are out there these day . . . a whole lotta room, for at least bellies, in those low-rise. Thanks for the laugh! Posted by Susan on 12/21/04 at 03:42 AM Ladies--I don't know about you, but I have a strict "policy of containment." If it jiggles, wiggles, or flaps in the breeze, it's covered. And sometimes by a fabric with a significant elasticity content! I had some SERIOUS low-rise bell-bottoms, size 3, when I was 19. But my stomach was FLAT and usually (if not always--I can't quite remember...) I wore either a long peasant top which more than met the jeans, or tucked a top in and wore an enormously wide belt. That said, I'll confess to being caught on the Jumbo-tron at an Elton John concert at Royals Stadium, circa 1972, in a midriff top that tied in a knot in the front. That scrap of fabric was good for nothing but...getting your picture splashed before 20,000 people. I think that was my last public display, but even then it didn't wiggle, giggle or flap in the breeze! Posted by Katy Raymond on 12/21/04 at 03:42 PM Oh my goodness (wiping eyes with a kleenex) I laughed so hard, I was crying. I gave up pantyhose about the time I required Queens. I now wear long skirts to church. No one need know. Those contraptions are a torture chamber. Thanks for the belly laugh! Posted by Candace Pfau on 12/25/04 at 12:16 AM Candace--Happy to be of service! :) Posted by Katy Raymond on 01/03/05 at 04:14 PM too, too funny katy...for me, it started with brightly colored tights that somehow never ended up reaching "true north" in that charming little girl way, then progressed to teen size hose for a very brief spell in early junior high...past this, i had become a firm believer that nylons had been created by some snickering man who would never have to pull such garments over his hairy legs and knobby knees, and no way was i going to fall prey to such exploitation as a progressive woman. nowadays, rarely, i will not be able to pass up some really cute black or olive green patterented tights for the winter while shopping, but even these get worn only once or twice a season. i wonder, will this change as i get older? hmm... at any rate, thanks for another true life account told only how you can! justadjust.blogspot.com Posted by lisa on 01/07/05 at 02:30 AM Page 1 of 1 pages Commenting is not available in this weblog entry. Next entry: Such A Dealz! Previous entry: Gifts That Keep Giving << Back to main


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Personal blog of christianwriter & fallible momKaty McKenna Raymondin Kansas City, Missouri

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Warning! Holiday Pantyhose Alert!

Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri