Today's post brought to you by the letter P
So I was planning on blogging about the herd of buffalo that stampeded through our living room, knocking over all of my empty chardonnay bottles, in the early hours of this morning, until I found this on our doorstep:
Congratulations! You qualify for an instantly slimming, beautifully shaping, supremely comfortable, free sample pantyhose!
Is there any other thing that is more matronly than pantyhose? No self-respecting girl-about-town wears pantyhose. You can’t even be sartorially ironic about pantyhose: downtown punk chicks wear shredded tights, Harajuku girls wear Hello Kitty knee socks and urban vintage cool hunters reference the 40’s in fishnet stockings. Pantyhose? Not even Chloe Sevigny wears pantyhose.
Prior to becoming a mother, I would occasionally wear tights (black, opaque Dim tights, worn with black skirts and black sweaters), weather depending. I have also been known, on dressier occasions, to don a pair of thigh-hi stay-ups or even – wink – gartered stockings. I have never worn Spanx, but I have it on good authority that they are not at all offensive. And, c’mon, spanx. Any product that refers to good ol’ S&M fun can’t be all that dowdy.
But pantyhose? Please.
The very term is disturbing. Panty. Hose. The word ‘panty’ may be titillating, insofar as it can conjure images of pajama parties full of college girls in baby-doll nighties pummeling each other with feather pillows (if you’re into that sort of thing), but pair it with the word ‘hose’ and it is drained of all eroticism. Pantyhose. You might as well call them gonch-tubes for all the feminine allure they evoke.
Throw in the words 'nude,' 'control top' and 'crotch' – as in nude control top pantyhose with reinforced crotch, size Extra Queen - and you’re done. Officially neutered and condemned to a sartorial existence that is defined by a-line skirts with elastic waistbands and polyester slacks. You are 70’s Mom. You might as well get the Carol Brady mullet and be done with it.
So why hasn’t anyone explained all of this to the makers of Enchantress Hosiery, makers of fine Enchantress Control Top Hosiery and the brains behind (I shit you not) the Control Top Pantyhose Club for Women, who sent me this invitation to join their Pantyhose of The Month Club (still not shitting you) with the promise to also send me a pair of Free! Cubic Zirconia! Earrings! (still with the not shitting) if I signed up immediately?
Why why why why why?
When did I become Control-Top Mom, and who told those people?
Don't do it, Mommy! Hold out for the L'eggs!
And while we’re entertaining questions: why do I get this shit in the mail, while Izzy gets personal lubricants? Where do I file my complaint?
And? How do I get myself reassigned to the Honey-Pass-The-Lube list?