TheBanyanTree: knotting my knickers

[Julie Anna Teague]

Saturday night I was preparing myself to go to the Lotus World Music 
Festival downtown, a night of gaiety and wonderful music and dancing.  
I was having some wardrobe issues from the get go.  I'd worn jeans and 
a sweater the night before--very comfortable and practical for a half 
outside/half inside event on a very coolish night. But I decided that 
on Saturday night I would dress up a little.  In a little dress or 
something like that.  And cowboy boots (why not?).  And tights for 
warmth.  But it took me awhile to get all of this together to my 
satisfaction because getting dressed up is not one of my strong points, 
and the partner and the son were getting antsy.  I'd been getting ready 
for half an hour, they told me impatiently (including taking a bath and 
washing my hair and putting on some lipstick), both of them pacing 
through my personal space several times.  Half an hour for crying out 
loud!  How could anyone take a half an hour?  "Just put something ON," 
they said to me, "We're not going to a fashion show."

I realized that these men were hopelessly spoiled by my usual ability 
to make a quick exit by skipping the finer points of fashion and 
grooming. And now I was being comPLETEly ridiculous and wasting time 
with my indecision and clothing struggles.  I didn't bother to stop and 
explain to them that I knew women (and men) who didn't leave for the 
grocery store without more prep time than I had used that very night, 
and that they were damned lucky that I'm generally very low 
maintanance.  I didn't stop and share with them about how, when I was a 
kid, every time the whole family was all ready to depart for anywhere, 
my dad had to go to the bathroom, and spend a good long time in there, 
grunting and smoking, making us late for every event.  No I didn't 
regale them with tales of how others were much worse than I am and so 
they should just suck it up.  I simply made a final decision and threw 
on some clothes--my third or fourth attempt at something comfortable 
and warm enough and not itchy, and something a tiny bit special for my 
big night out.

Consequently, in my rush, I didn't stop to check for functionality in 
every part of my outfit, and by the time I got downtown and started 
walking around to the different music venues, I realized my major 
oversight.  The elastic at the top of my tights had given up the ghost. 
  The top of my tights, after walking half a block, was down near my 
crotch.  A few more steps, and they'd be completely past the hips and 
drooping below my hemline.  I ooched along, tugging and pulling with as 
much cool and discretion as I could.  I quickly realized that I was not 
going to be able to walk, much less dance, in these things.  But if I 
took them off, I was going to get blisters from my cowboy boots and 
very cold in my short dress.  Going back home to change was out of the 
question.  I was kicking myself.  Why oh why?  I felt so spiffy and 
funky, but I was bursting this illusion with every tug on my undies and 
tights.  There was nothing to do but think my way out of this 
situation.  I decided that an appropriately place knot in the 
waisteband might do the job.  I tried to reach under my dress, up to 
the top of my tights, but could find no way of doing this without 
completely exposing myself from the waist down to everyone around me.  
Finally, in utter desparation, I reached through the stretchy armpit of 
my dress, down, down, down to the top of the tights and then pulled, 
up, up, up, through the arm opening, where I could get both hands on 
the waistband.  I managed to tie a knot in one side, using the balloon 
tying technique (because the tights were stretched to their limits by 
this time).  With that small success (and God knows what people thought 
I was doing--I couldn't think about that) I decided to go for the other 
side as well.  Down, down, then up, up with the tights, tie a balloon 
knot, and let them sproing back into place, securely around my waist.

I was quite pleased with the results, despite having two strange lumps 
under my dress.  The partner said they looked like extra outie navals.  
Or that my nipples had drooped to waist level.  He's often helpful like 
that.  But no matter, the tights were living up to their name, and I 
was able to dance the night away without worries.  And once more, life 
provides these little comedies to make sure I'm still laughing at 
myself.

Julie










----- End forwarded message -----