I truly, without a doubt in my mind, believe that pantyhose were invented by men simply to torture women (same for high heels). Perhaps I should look this up before laying blame - but not today.
While pregnant this go around, I have pretty much boycotted the idea of wearing pantyhose. This worked out just fine while it was hot outside - a great excuse to not wear pantyhose in any law office. So, I ditched the dreaded pantyhose and banished the thought of them from my mind except for special occasions such as appearances in court. Unfortunately, it has turned colder and now, I'm desperate to have something warm on my white, pastey legs. Last night it dropped into the 20's here and to top that off, today is our firm Christmas party. So, when I went to get dressed this morning, I realized that I had to wear pantyhose for the sake of warmth, beauty (remember the pastey leg comment), and the formality of the occasion tonight.
Since I have banished all pantyhose, I only ever bought one pair of maternity pantyhose for wearing to hearings and other important meetings. Well, I wore that pair once and had to search for that one pair of pantyhose this morning. I noticed that there was a pair of pantyhose sitting on top of a fresh batch of laundry so I assumed that these must be my one and only pair of maternity pantyhose. I grabbed them off the laundry and proceeded to contort my ever-growing, bulbous body so that I could stretch, pull, manipulate, and hoist the pantyhose onto my overworked legs. Poor George put up a valiant protest as I squished him in my attempts to reach my toes, but eventually, I got the task completed.
As I finally attempted to pull the enormous pantyhose up over my watermelon belly to just under my bosom (girls, you know what I'm talking about), I noticed that the pantyhose could not be stretched beyond just below my non existent waist. I muttered, "What the hell?!" I looked in the mirror and realized that I had just managed to squeeze my 8 month pregnant, maternity ass into a pair of regular sized pantyhose. I briefly considered ditching them and trying to locate the ginormous pair of maternity pantyhose that would adequately fit over my belly, but realized that there was no way in hell I was going to go through that effort again even if I actually found them (which was unlikely anyway). So, as I walked out of my bedroom I felt the top of the teeny-weeny pantyhose begin to roll down as it settled uncomfortably and precariously around the top of my hips. Thank God I have big hips to hold them up (Yes, I can't believe I just said that - shows how distorted the pregnant mind can be).
So, here I sit at work with the waist of my pantyhose uncomfortably pressing in on George's little head, the fabric bursting at the seams (I already have a run in the back), and I realize that perhaps my "no-way-in-hell" attitude was perhaps the wrong choice. I guess I'll have to figure out a quick fix to this before the party, but I have no idea what I'm going to do since there are no maternity stores anywhere close to my office. Until then, I'm pretty much just going to bitch and whine about my poor decision. Thanks for listening.