The ankle of one leg hooked behind the knee of the opposite leg, and held on stubbornly. Once they were pulled apart, they hung in the air momentarily, then entered into the fray again. This time one leg slipped the waistband and entered the innards of its opponent, blocking any headway. Finally, the referee rolled up one extended appendage and got the big toe into position for a final thrust. But a rough toenail caught the mesh, obstructing movement once again, and threatening to bore a hole right through the flesh-tone façade. A stretch here, a roll-up there, but little progress was being made. A semi-victory was achieved when all the sections stretched approximately over the correct parts. Unfortunately, the components were tightly and uncomfortably twisted around the corpulence beneath.
I hadn’t tried to put on a pair of pantyhose since before Covid. Now that I had reason to put on a dress instead of the ubiquitous lounge pants, I was flummoxed by a simple pair of impossible-to-wrangle pantyhose. When I finally got them on and pulled up, they were twisted a bit painfully around my tummy and thighs. It wasn’t quite the win I had envisioned. Maybe it was a draw between me and the pantyhose. Tomorrow, I’ll return to wearing a pair of pants and simple socks.
Marsha Hoffer
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