28 September 2011

When Good Clothes Go Bad

The trouble with tights? They just don’t do what they’re supposed to. In my experience, those sheer little suckers snag, run, get all ‘static-y’ on you, they fall down or strangle you round the middle or whatever, however, somehow, they – just – don’t – fit!! And you know what? If you DO manage to find the miracle pair that avoid all the above pitfalls, by the time you realize they’re the dream pair, you’ve long since chucked out the packaging and for the life of you, you won’t remember what brand they were, what size you bought or even, sometimes, the exact colour they were … because the people who make these female torture items don’t stick any freakin branding in them. No. I know we all hate having tags and most of us cut them off, but come on, a hint or two would be good!!

Now I recently did a little ‘research’ (i.e. I asked some people) for a presentation I had to do at work. And these are some of the things women said:

Sometimes they’re great; other times all you have to do is breath in and they shred.”

She’s not wrong. Breathing, let alone pulling them up just a little too roughly when you’re in a hurry!

They always slip down so you have a crotch midway to your knees. To remedy this I wear a pair of knickers over the top of my tights as well as underneath, which makes me feel like I’m wearing a nappy!

Now this is a brave woman. Not only for admitting it in public, but I don’t know many women who would be brave enough to wear three layers over her butt and that’s without counting the skirt.

And what about the nice shiny stockings that make whispery noises when you walk. Or am I the only one with fat thighs?”

Um no, you’re not the only one. I too have heard the whisper.

Sometimes you can pull them up high and help keep some of the belly in – all good until the moment when it’s most inconvenient they roll down and make the sticky-out bit of your stomach look worse.

Ha ha ha, oh she’s so on the button!!

That if I’m wearing a singlet, they appear to repel each other – singlet goes up, tights go down.

Ah, such wisdom … and that’s where the tummies like to peek out off. Eeeeuuuuuw!!

Now, when you think of all the other uses to which a plain pair of tights can be put, you wonder why the manufacturers haven’t hooked into the fact that tights don’t actually make very good tights. But they do make very good ... 
  • burglar masks;
  • fan belt replacements;
  • paint strainers;
  • shoe polishers;
  • ties for keeping trees tied to stakes;
  • pin cushions (put stuffing into a yoghurt container, stretch some pantyhose over the top – whippee … pin cushion!);
  • exfoliators (put a cup of oatmeal into the toe of a pair of pantyhose, tie it off, put it in your bath … the oatmilk comes out – full of vitamin E or something great for your skin [if you don’t mind smelling vaguely porridge like] and the hose is mildly exfoliating!);
  • I have it on good authority that kava is strained through it in Fiji;
  • and I have it on other good authority that they make darn fine pool filters.
Frankly, if I was in the employ of some pantyhose maker, I’d be ditching the ‘leg-covering’ market and going for the ‘wonder-product, can do anything; incredibly strong, yet amazingly soft’ market. And if my employer wouldn’t buy into that, I’d at least force them to add some teeny tiny piece of branding. Hear that, pantyhose makers? Put a damn clue in the things!

16 September 2011

"I was waving ..."

Ever wanted to have your say with the pain-in-the-arse driver that just displayed an appalling lack of manners and road etiquette?

We were driving to pick up the eldest girl-child from school this afternoon. Friday is my day to pick up Ruby and we both look forward to it. But it’s a fraught journey from my work, as it seems to take forever and I only just make it on time each week. I hyperventilate, I worry, I speed (shhh) … all because in my head I can hear my little 5-year-old crying at the school door when her Mummy isn’t there to collect her. So I know – it’s important to get to school on time. I realize that.

Today, the chap behind us from Silverdale thru to the school was hyperventilating slightly more than me … thankfully my husband was driving, as I think my road rage would have got the better of me if I had been driving. Anyways … this plonker is right up our butts. Then won’t let us ‘merge like a zip’ … he’s determined we’re not getting in. Thankfully, hubby of mine decided enough was enough and damn well merged like a zip … We started to mutter about the rude bugger behind us.

Then we got to the lights at which we turn right … and as we’re going into the right-turn lane, who’s there, but plonker head, trying to overtake us on the wrong side of the road. Hmm. In a 50km zone. Ok, we know you’re trying to get there by 3, but now you’re being plain stupid and dangerous. I look behind me … ok, I throw him one of my mummy ‘you better not mess with me’ glares. He pulls the finger at me (ooh!). I glare some more. Then Owen says “that’s xxx’s dad.” “who?” I say … “xxx … she’s in Ruby’s class.” Ha ha ha ha ha, I start laughing. I glance behind once again to get a good look at his face. I decide I’m going to have my say with this ‘gentleman’.

I wait outside Ruby’s class like a good Mumma (dickhead disappeared to park somewhere else, apparently). Ruby greets me as she always does on a Friday … “Mummy!” Big hug, excited chatter. I hug back, casting an eye over her shoulder to see if I can spot him. I do. Ferk – he’s huge. Big ginga fella with muscles and boots. I re-think my intent to have my say. Then I decide, no, bugger it. So when he comes out with his daughter, I step into line with them … “you look mighty familiar” I say. “Nope, don’t think I do” he says. “yes … you look just like the chap who gave me the finger about 5 minutes ago” … “no, I was waving” Here, I decide that I want to make this ‘friendly’ as we may well meet again, so I say “nope, that was definitely the finger … don’cha hate that? Turns out to be a parent in the same class!?” with a small (and slightly terrified and shocked at my daring) kind of laugh. He just said “yep” and walked away. However, him being a ginga … and kind of fair skinned … the bright red blush over his entire neck and face gave me the satisfaction I craved.

I hope next time I’m driving to Ruby’s school he has a few more manners. Or I’ll have to make him blush again. Him in his muscles and his boots.