The other day I went into one of the small local stores where the counter was a couple hops, one skip and two jumps from the door. As I waited my turn I heard the door behind me tinkle open, the bell above chiming in the next customer, and then, ever so slightly, a tug at the bottom of my pant leg. My stomach did a little flip.
A wave of deja-vu floated over me as I contemplated how I was going to handle my exist, should the need arise. With fear and dread I slowly and ever so slightly peered down my leg and slightly behind me. To my utter relief a little white fluff ball of a dog stared back up at me. Its owner apologized if her dog was being overly friendly and I waved off the apology, so relieved that it was a live animal that I was assaulted by and not the dreaded pair of static cling underwear.
A long, long, long time ago (I swear it wasn't last month) I went into one of the local stores with a counter a couple hops, one skip and two jumps from the door. I went and stood at the counter and the door swung open behind me and my pant leg was tugged and I turned to see what it was, only to be humiliated by the sight of one toe of a pair of pantyhose being snagged on the opened door and the other obstinately attached to the inside of my pant leg and all the middle part stretched out in between.
Its not like you can deny they are yours. One end's attached itself to you. It is in your pant leg. A million thoughts ran through my head. Do I try explaining the morning's rush? Do I swear I yanked the pair of pants out of the dryer just before leaving the house? They are clean pants I swear it, as are the nylons, that's why there's static cling! Neither are Fabreezed hamper dwellers! Do I pretend I don't notice, maybe no one else will?
As if in slow motion, I just remember those nylons stretching, stretching, stretching and still the toe didn't come out of my pant leg. I reached down and yanked on it and it came free on the end snagged to the door. Quickly I wadded it up, refused to look at the person at the door and turned to the counter. "I wondered where they had gotten to," I said. "Will, now you know," the counterwoman replied. I made my purchase and left.
Another time I was walking up some stairs at a rather nice event and attired appropriately. I was wearing a draping evening gown, a style that I had never worn before, and we were going up some stairs that were placed rather closely together. The stairs were wide but not very well lit and I was going up chatting away with a friend of ours, with our husbands following behind (chatting as well but they like to call it talking, men don't chat). As we talked and walked (or rather climbed) I began to get shorter and shorter, but because I was so animated in what I was talking about I really didn't notice until, suddenly, I couldn't bring my knee up to walk any further. I had walked right up inside of my dress as we climbed the stairs!
My husband had noticed and, apparently, (or so he says) had been saying, "Um, honey, um dear, your dress, your dress!" There was a line of people behind us who had to wait as I backed out of my dress and shook everything back into their proper spots.
So, you see, I was quite justified in being relieved in the store the other day to see it was a dog, and not a piece of my clothing, that was accosting me. Dogs I can deal with, I just can't seem to win when doing battle with pieces of my clothing.
A wave of deja-vu floated over me as I contemplated how I was going to handle my exist, should the need arise. With fear and dread I slowly and ever so slightly peered down my leg and slightly behind me. To my utter relief a little white fluff ball of a dog stared back up at me. Its owner apologized if her dog was being overly friendly and I waved off the apology, so relieved that it was a live animal that I was assaulted by and not the dreaded pair of static cling underwear.
A long, long, long time ago (I swear it wasn't last month) I went into one of the local stores with a counter a couple hops, one skip and two jumps from the door. I went and stood at the counter and the door swung open behind me and my pant leg was tugged and I turned to see what it was, only to be humiliated by the sight of one toe of a pair of pantyhose being snagged on the opened door and the other obstinately attached to the inside of my pant leg and all the middle part stretched out in between.
Its not like you can deny they are yours. One end's attached itself to you. It is in your pant leg. A million thoughts ran through my head. Do I try explaining the morning's rush? Do I swear I yanked the pair of pants out of the dryer just before leaving the house? They are clean pants I swear it, as are the nylons, that's why there's static cling! Neither are Fabreezed hamper dwellers! Do I pretend I don't notice, maybe no one else will?
As if in slow motion, I just remember those nylons stretching, stretching, stretching and still the toe didn't come out of my pant leg. I reached down and yanked on it and it came free on the end snagged to the door. Quickly I wadded it up, refused to look at the person at the door and turned to the counter. "I wondered where they had gotten to," I said. "Will, now you know," the counterwoman replied. I made my purchase and left.
Another time I was walking up some stairs at a rather nice event and attired appropriately. I was wearing a draping evening gown, a style that I had never worn before, and we were going up some stairs that were placed rather closely together. The stairs were wide but not very well lit and I was going up chatting away with a friend of ours, with our husbands following behind (chatting as well but they like to call it talking, men don't chat). As we talked and walked (or rather climbed) I began to get shorter and shorter, but because I was so animated in what I was talking about I really didn't notice until, suddenly, I couldn't bring my knee up to walk any further. I had walked right up inside of my dress as we climbed the stairs!
My husband had noticed and, apparently, (or so he says) had been saying, "Um, honey, um dear, your dress, your dress!" There was a line of people behind us who had to wait as I backed out of my dress and shook everything back into their proper spots.
So, you see, I was quite justified in being relieved in the store the other day to see it was a dog, and not a piece of my clothing, that was accosting me. Dogs I can deal with, I just can't seem to win when doing battle with pieces of my clothing.
1 comment:
this one made me pee my pants.
are you that person with the toilet seat cover stuck to her pants?
or the one with their dress stuck up in the back in her panty hose?
or the one that always falls off her shoes?
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