I find it interesting and utterly annoying that tights are beyond disposable – yet their prices are NOT. Stockings are a fairly one-and-done commodity. Which is infuriating because they’re kind of g-d expensive. I can’t even tell you how much money I’ve spent this year alone on tights - $8.99 a pair, $10.99, $15 – and from T.J. Maxx and Marshall’s, those prices are totes on the cheaper side of the spandexy spectrum.
My friend Shannon had a terrible, horrible, no good very bad tights day last week – she went through two pairs in as many hours. Whattawaste!!Why do we subject ourselves to spending, spending, spending on tights?
We spend our time picking out the perfect pair; we spend mucho moolah every time we spy a cute new design; we spend countless embarrassing moments hitching up the shit outta them; we spend tedious instances patching them with clear nail polish. And seriously, I am SPENT.
It’s a crying shame that I’m so taken with tights.
The entire bottom drawer of my dresser is dedicated to them. And it’s overflowing (as you can see...yep that’s my drawer). Pink and purple and blue and brown and black and printed and patterned and fishnet and flowery and me oh me oh my – siiiigh.Why oh why do manufacturers have to make such charmingly cute ones? Such super seductive ones? Such alluringly appealing ones? ‘Tisn’t fair, I say!
I know I’m not alone in my ripped-tights trials and tribulations, my runny-stockings soap opera. And for that I am thankful.In fact, I deem me and my clumsy, klutzy, oh-shit-guaranteed-rip gals the rule, not the exception. Some people are just naturally cautious...prosaically perfect, even. But I, for one, am not so very scrupulous when it comes to stockings.
My tricky, traitorous legs always seem to find the stray splinters under my desk – hellooooooo Snagsville.
Low-rise tights are a lowly enemy. For reals. I have a hitching problem – I’ll admit it (whatevs! who doesn’t feel the constant need to hike-em up??) Alas, I’m (apparently) an overzealous hitcher – sometimes my thumbs poke pull-up holes. Guess I can’t really say “I’m a big kid now” cause apparently I haven’t learned to yank gently.
Kitchen tables. Fingernails. Wooden chairs. Velcro! Brushes. Bushes. High boots. Purses. Shopping bags. Zippers. Your pretty little kitty.Even the most benign, mundane item can become your biggest adversary. Everywhere you go, everything you face – is an enemy. An enemy of your nylons.
Now as much as I’d love to haterate on tights alone, I can’t rightly discuss holes in leggy garments without mentioning my disdain for…can you guess (besides Miley Cyrus and her stupid wannabe trend)?
Holey socks. Sorry gentlemen – but really. As if it’s not enough to don off-white socks with dress shoes and slacks (yes, dirt has been accounted for), said socks are undoubtedly riddled with big-toe n’ heel holes.
Holey sock? Holy shit. Mayjaaaah no dankes.
Though I am a lady, unfortunately I’m not immune to this most loathsome phenomenon. It seems that my shoes vilify viscose and cotton and wool.
Heels and toes, toes and heels, holy HOLES all around.
I suppose the one saving grace of disgraceful worn-out socks is the fact that they hide in your shoes, snug as a stink bug in a smelly rug, safely out of sight. You don’t have to immediately discard them. Take them off and throw them in the trash.Tights, on the other hand, are ready and raring to be judged. They get a little snag, a slight run, a teeny tiny hole and they’re done for. 86 or else.
