As the weather gets colder, those of us working gals are forced to embrace the most restrictive garment of women's clothing (and that's saying A LOT. I'm looking at you UNDERWIRE)...tights. And you guys, the average lifespan of a pair of tights for me is like...oh...45 minutes or so. I literally like need to open a savings account simply for Tights Related Expenses.
So this morning, I'm of course trying to get myself into a pair of nude hose, and Husband wakes up. And this is like my worst nightmare. Because all the sistas in the house know how RIDICULOUS you look when you're trying to shimmy your way into a pair of control top pantyhose. And I know he's my Husband and he's stuck with me regardless, but still. You know, you're doing the pull-up and the sumo wrestler stomp so the the damn things get where they're supposed to go, as opposed to the crotch being somewhere around your kneecaps all day. Anyway, Husband wakes up and goes "What the hell are you doing? All I hear is heavy breathing."
And this pair of tights was particularly bothersome because I think I accidentally bought a pair of...like...support hose? You know the ones your grandma wears to control her varicose veins? So they're made of...I don't know something very thick and shiny. And they make a weird swishy noise when the brush up against anything. But even though they are probably thick enough to survive a mission to space, I still managed to get a run in them. I don't even know how. It's like I simply LOOK at my tights and BAM! RUN! Whatever.
At least my shoes are cute. As if anyone coming into the Library gives a crap. What with the abundance of cat themed sweaters and snowman cardigans there are to see here.