It was a Sunday, and because my stomach rumbled through most of the sermon, I decided I would make a quick run to the grocery store after church to grab some items for a nice Sunday dinner. Before I got out of my car, I did the careful inch-by-inch hike most hose-wearing women are familiar with. I walked into the store, grabbed a basket and headed down an aisle. I continued to add items to my basket when, without warning, I heard a quiet elastic snap! as my pantyhose rolled down a bit. I paused… stood motionless… hoping they would not roll again. I altered my walk. I took quick baby steps and as panic set in thought, “I gotta get outta here before these things roll all the way down!”
I shimmied to the express register, kind of sliding my feet. Still they rolled. The express line is NEVER express. I stood perfectly still in line, praying and hoping my pantyhose would not reach the point of no return – under the hem of my skirt which fell right at my knee. Curses! I imagine sheer nervous energy made them roll again because I know I didn’t move an inch. By the time I got to the cashier, they were about mid-thigh… which further restricted my movement. I took my bag and penguin-walked ever-so-slowly out the door.
It was windy that day and perhaps because it was right after church and Buffalo is a big football town, the store was starting to get busy as people made last-minute game preparations. I was parked about 150 yd. from the door. I stopped, contemplated sprinting to my car, then decided against it. Instead, I pretended to study my receipt and then proceeded to take very, very small steps toward my car. I was too frightened to look down – for fear I would see the crotch of my pantyhose down around my knees. My face was hot and I was certain everyone was staring. When I did peek down, it seemed they’d stopped rolling for the time being. I felt giggles rising in my throat as I inched closer to my car. “Almost there…just… got.. to.. get,” I whispered to myself and grinned. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I made a mad dash the last 20 feet to my car. And that’s when I saw them… my little pantyhose… looking up, mocking me, from mid-calf.
I fumbled with the lock, flung open the door and dove into my car. Then, I laughed until I was in tears and couldn’t breathe. I took them off and headed home, where I promptly tossed them in the garbage. I don’t wear pantyhose that often anymore but now I only buy ones that come up over my boobs.