As I got dressed yesterday morning, I started to have second thoughts about the leggings I was pulling onto my body.
The elastic at the waistband seemed a little droopy, although I had worn them over the weekend and had no problems.
I should probably add that said leggings also have a giant hole in the crotch, that extends halfway down the left thigh, and probably should have been discarded many wearings ago.
But, true to my slovenly nature of wearing things until they literally fall off my body, I slid the leggings over my shapley thighs and continued to get dressed.
Cut to 3 hours later, as I get off the 6 train on the upper east side for a doctor's appointment. My leggings are feeling kinda slippery. I suddenly feel slight terror as the waistband starts to slither down my hips and make it's way down. Oh God I am about to lose my pants right on 68th and Lex.
I wasn't panicking yet, as I gave them a good hike and figured that would do it the four long blocks to York Avenue.
Not so much. I got as far as 2nd, and realized that my ass was full on uncovered, leggings dangerously close to peeking out from underneath my very short sweater dress. Fuckkk!
I saw a Walgreens and ducked in, diving into an aisle and yanking my waistband as best I could without flashing the entire store. Fucking Walgreens I thought would at least have some cheapo black tights--all I saw was this type of shit-
I didn't even know that women still wore this shit. Is that even possible??
At any rate, no luck at Walgreens, so I stumbled out, holding my waistband up through my dress like a crazy-ish person, pawing at myself in near tears. I reeked of desperation and shame for not being grownup enough to have clothing that wasn't in tatters.
Aha. Ann Taylor Loft across the street. They shall have tights.
By the time I found the tights, got on line behine *one* person who decided to take forever, with a salesperson who was the most painstakingly slow mover I've ever seen in my lifetime, my leggings were dangerously close to hovering somewhere around my ankles.
What I don't understand is why I didn't just explain my predicament to the salesperson so she could allow me to change in the dressing room right then and there.
But no, I like to make things difficult for myself. So I yoinked on my waistband one last time, and hightailed it to the Doctor's office, where I would change in the bathroom and rid myself of the evil leggings for once and for all.
Once in the elevator, I lifted my dress up, and pulled the leggings back over my behind, where they belonged. Sweet relief at last!
And yes, I am fully aware that whoever was manning the security camera got a mighty nice free show, might I add.