This morning as I was getting ready for work (late), I imagined my boss saying something to me about my perpetual tardiness. He has never yet noticed that I am late, to my knowledge. Or rather, he has never said anything to me about it.
Our imaginary conversation went like this:
Him: Erin, you really need to work harder at being on time. Why are you always so late?
Me: Well, it all boils down to one thing, sir.
Him: What's that?
Me: Pantyhose.
Him: Pantyhose?
Me: Yes.
Him: Please explain.
Me: Well, every single morning, I stand in front of my closet and try to figure out what to wear. Every day I ask myself, 'Will today be a pantyhose day?' Then I have to go through a small check list. 1. Do I have anything clean that does NOT necessitate pantyhose? 2. When was the last time I shaved my legs (pertaining to skirts only, obviously)? 3. What's going on today--how nice do I need to look? So on and so forth.
This whole thing probably takes about five minutes, which, when you only give yourself fifteen to get out the door, is a lot. Then, if I decide today is indeed a pantyhose day, I can automatically add at least 15 minutes of hopping around the bedroom, half-naked, on one foot while I try to squeeze into "Nude, Control Top, Large." It's at this point that I have to wonder--am I buying the right size? If I paid more than $1.99 for my pantyhose, would the whole ordeal go more smoothly? Am I sure I don't have any clean pants?
Sir, I just don't know what else to do.
Him: Perhaps you could get out of bed earlier?
Me: Oh. I guess I could do that.
1 comment:
Have you seen that episode of "Six Feet Under" where Claire sings the song about how much her pantyhose irritate her?
You should. It's great.
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