We all showered very little, rarely left the yard and loved every minute of it. I also recently cleaned my house which always makes me feel like I'm winning at life!
So this is what I was going to gush at all of you, surely annoying you and losing followers (kind of like the time I posted the YouTube video of me singing). But because I had spent the majority of this Christmas vacation in pajama pants, I prepared myself for the re-entry into society this morning by attempting to pull together a cute outfit that would be highlighted by these grey tights and my slammin' brown boots. The only thing that I pulled was my hamstring, which merely highlighted the fact that I am insanely bitchy when things bind my crotch.
Let me take this opportunity to tell you that just because something LOOKS GOOD, does not mean that it is GOOD FOR YOU.
|Case in Point.|
So on went the tights and on came all of the rage and irritation of my 'normal' charming self.
You see, I was thinking this:
Tights=Cute and Trendy
When the reality of tights is this:
|Just so you are not confused, this is not me. |
Although I do spend a lot of time posing like
this in heels and a turtleneck.
Sort of, if you like the feeling of all your toes being bound like the foot of a Geisha Girl with size nine hooves.
Then I attempted to put the second leg in and everything went to hell in a hand basket. They started twisting/cutting of circulation somewhere around my knee/lower thigh area, then by the time I was at mid thigh it was like someone had applied a tourniquet. I don't even want to tell you what happened when I pulled them all the way up, all I will say is that I never knew that my skin could make those shapes. Each leg looked something a fat woman riding a rusty bicycle who got trapped in a fishing net.
I wore them around the house for about ten minutes, mistakenly thinking that they would steretch, and the fiery rage was building. It didn't help that my diet had recenly consisted of half a pan of brownies and my husband had slopped the kids some oatmeal then left the house, so the children naturally had decorated themselves in that glue-like oatmeal paste and were running through my home "painting" everything they touched. Black Dog was busy licking the table while Smelly Cat was sitting on the kitchen counter howling at me for food and I heard a car horn blast and peeked out the window to see Red Dog running from the street wearing a very guilty expression. Then I received a political call (JOY!). To top it off, Thing 1 was in the bathroom doing his "necessary" body flopping that he performs while brushing his teeth (or washing his hands or eating or reading.....), he fell of his stool and landing squarely on my tight-clad bare toes. He was wearing cowboy boots. Thing 2 stood by screeching in his best high pitch squeal and attempting to brush the cat with his toothbrush. By the time that the 10 minutes was up I was ready to send both children away to boarding school and move into a van down by the river.
Instead, I took a deep breath, made a voodoo doll of the bitch who knitted the tights and slammed 48 pins into her thighs and stomped to my room were I removed the tights more quickly than a boy crazy Catholic School Girl in the presence of Zach Effron. I found a little piece of heaven in my favorite roomy Target jeggings and my Emu boots. Fuck fashion anyway. I like hoodies and slippers. And Coffee.
|That's more like it.|
So let me helpfully offer a parenting tip to you parents of little girls (who you dress in cute dresses and tights): If they are acting like monsters, blame it on the tights, because tights are knitted in hell by female hating,candy cane legged, fleshless people. Throw those tights away and buy them yoga pants. Tree pose. Problem solved. Namaste motherfuckers.