Nylons aren’t my friends. I’ve already explained this to you, a couple years ago, when I had some difficulties with a pair at a function at the Space Needle. Last week, I revisited the problem, with a new pregnant twist.
Dan took me to the opera last week, for a Wednesday night showing of Verdi’s Il Trovatore. We bought the tickets long before I learned I was pregnant, and I had a last minute panic about what to wear, since many of my clothes are getting a bit snug in the belly region. But I pulled out a semi-formal dress with a very forgiving empire waist, and made it work. However, the dress was swathed in black nylon, making black nylons and unavoidable accessory.
Having not considered this problem until it was too late to find new, pregnancy friendly nylons, I dove back into my old stash of nylons, hoping I could find something that would fit.
I found a pair with a lot of elasticity, not as saggy as the Space Needle ones (I wasn’t about to repeat the problem from that night). But they were a struggle to fit over aforementioned prego belly. Thankfully, they seemed tight enough to stay up.
All fitted and ready to go, I drove to meet Dan at work, proud of myself for finding a dress and nylons that fit. Of course, I didn’t bother to stuff a spare pair of nylons into my purse because, as usual, I was overly confident that all would work out well in the nylon department.
When we got to the opera, I made a trip to the ladies room to freshen up before the show and looked down to see railroad tracks zipping quickly down the front of my leg, shooting slightly below my hemline. Cursing the vile stockings, I dove into the nearest stall to assess the situation.
Starting from the overly stretched prego belly region, the run had quickly descended all the way down my thigh and was making quick progress to my feet.
Without an extra pair, I was stuck with two options: put up with railroad tracks or go nylon free. Thinking about all the super dressed up people at the opera, I decided that nylons with runs might attract a little attention. So, once again, I found myself bare legged and attending a dressy event.
I stuffed the nylons in the bathroom garbage and exited to find Dan waiting outside for me. My scowl probably told him the whole story, and he obviously hadn’t forgotten the Space Needle experience, since he cracked up when I told him about the problem.
It seems that I’m forever doomed to struggle with nylons. At least I hope I’ve learned my lesson about bringing along an extra pair. But, then again, I don’t hold out a lot of hope for remembering this for future occasions. My overconfidence has a way of getting me every time!