Do you have trouble getting your panty hose on? I do. I pull up one leg and it doesn’t fit over my waist. So I take them off and try again, checking to make sure they are not on backwards. This time I pull a lot from the bottom. Now it fits, sort of, but twists round my thigh, and is tight and awkward when I walk. So I try it again, this time carefully putting both feet in at the same time, and pulling in sync. But this doesn’t work, and I finally give up, and walk around for a while with one leg crooked. I debate whether to stretch out the hose between two chairs, and try to jump into them, both feet at once.
And then, I wonder, do other people have this problem? I’ve done this for a long time, so why haven’t I learned it? Its one of those things that reminds you, first thing, every single morning, that you are an idiot. Even before you go out into the world to do other stupid things. Like getting your trench coat stuck in the locked front door, with your keys ten feet away in a running car. Or driving south rather than north on route 95.
I asked a friend whether she had the panty hose problem, and she said, “No, What ARE you talking about?!”
Is it just me? Is it my co-ordination? My weight? My waistline?
My theory is that it’s a conspiracy that everyone but me is party to. Is it, or do other people’s families always claim to have heard the story you’re telling at least five times before? Or they refuse to believe you, because they HAVEN’T heard the story at least five times? Does your mother refuse to confirm the stories you tell your children about your childhood?
“I never called “Here, fishy, fishy, fishy” when I fed the goldfish, Carol Ane.”
Do other people worry that their husbands are secretly orchestrating all this to make them think they’ve really gone over the bend? That their husbands are in league with their mothers?
My daughter told me that she used to have this dream, in which she had been kidnaped by aliens, but they had diabolically assumed the guise of her friends and family. And than someday, years later, when she had completely forgotten this nightmare; suddenly the facade of her home and friends would dissolve into dust, leaving her alone on an alien planet surrounded by hideous creatures with large fangs and snake-like tentacles, laughing and drooling.
Do you ever worry about that?
If this happened, do you think the aliens would do psychological experiments on you first? Before everything dissolved? Like having your children, husband, and mother all pretend that you hadn’t seen a certain movie together? Or all of them assuming you that you had definitely been present at another movie that for some reason you couldn’t remember at all? Would you begin to wonder what woman your husband did see that movie with? Would the aliens arrange to have you always see the same Seinfeld rerun, despite the fact that you had only seen Seinfeld three times in your life?
I think that could explain a lot of things.
Anyway, I was just wondering.
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