The place for my writing, my musing, my random thinking and, occasionally, my ranting. Enjoy!

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Of Chickens and Nylons


My friend Diana and I engaged in this exchange in email some time ago.  Personally, I think there's something wrong with both of us...

Diana:  Now, on to another important question.  How do you pick out nylons?  I mean, I'm hearing about garter belts, control top (what are you controlling exactly?), color options (if it's nude color what's the point?), ones above the knees, ones below the knees, something about coming in an egg though I thought nylons were man made?  Do I have to find a chicken to get a pair of nylons?

Me:
In the matter of your other (sic) burning question: the nylons.  They were the bane of my existence during my time in corporate hell, so I am a recovering wearer.  In terms of picking them out, I may as well have hurled a dart into the display rack at Macy's and chosen that way.  Whatever the method, for me they had all the comfort of the Judas Cradle at a medieval execution dock.  I know I am in the minority here, but I own my biases - my wounds are still fresh.

Those free-thinking hosiers have concocted a method of sizing that relates to the measurement of nothing else in the known universe.  Other clothing manufacturers must have patented the idea of numeric sizes, because this intrepid group chose letter sizes as their domain.  And single letters were not enough.  No, not for these pioneers.  You must choose a letter range.  A-B for the habitually anorexic. C-D for the "I'm-on-Atkins" crowd, and E-F for most others.

Not to mount a soapbox here, but you'll notice there are no letters for larger-than-average hosiery.  That's because this group of Neanderthals (men, no doubt) have decided to grace us with the epithet "Queen Size", which I could abide only if they would guarantee I would be treated like one upon wearing the garments.

Some tips for safe use:  You cannot be too moist after a shower, because they will grind to a halt halfway up your legs, your knees will bind together, you may need to have the Jaws of Life applied in order to be extricated from them.  If have skin that is too rough, they will shred like Christmas tissue paper and run so badly that your legs will look striped.  If you fail to pull them up far enough, the crotch will sag, you will experience fatal chafing, and your ankles will look like those of an African elephant roaming the savannah. 

Control top hose are intended to conceal extra pounds by compression.  Since it is physically impossible to cram ten pounds of sand into a five pound bag, the excess pounds merely struggle for freedom above the waistband and spend their time trying to roll the waistband toward the thighs, freeing the rest of their captive brethren.  Hence, control top hose only succeed in controlling your inconvenient urge to take a full breath.

Color should not be a problem in the least.  As long as you can distinguish fluently between ecru, eggshell, taupe, off-white, beige, crème, fawn, mushroom, and light brown, it should be quite simple.  Likewise black, night, midnight, ebony, ink, let, onyx, raven, and sable.

The nude thing stumps me completely.  I have never in my linguistic travels (and I am an English teacher) heard the misbegotten phrase "semi-nude" uttered anywhere else.  Nude is a word that should join the ranks of words of the the "you-are-or-you-aren't" distinction: I.e., dead, alive, pregnant.

And where nylons begat of eggs are concerned, you must rely on your highly-developed sense of reason.
Ponder this conundrum: is a chicken stupid enough to wear nylons?

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