I woke up this morning with a burning desire to wear fishnet stockings with my black dress. Fearing the static cling that's destroyed my life of late, I followed commenter extraordinaire Big Kahuna's advice and, after moisturizing as per usual, I rubbed my legs, the skirt of the dress, and the stockings down with dryer sheets. I spent a good ten minutes attempting to neutralize the static cling and, by the end of the ten minutes, the operation seemed to be a success. So, I packed my black boots in a bag, threw on a jacket, and headed out to work, under the impression that my problems were a thing of the past.
It was once I was out on the street that the problems started. Walking to the station, the skirt of my dress fell prey, once again, to that bastard static cling. The more I walked, the more the skirt stuck to my stockings and climbed up my legs. Carrying two ginormous bags while attempting to pull my skirt from my stockings was challenging to say the least and it became downright impossible to do once I picked up my coffee.
I wanted to cry. I wanted to dive into a secluded corner where I could peel off the goddamn effin' static-charged mofo stockings but, alas (I suspect that some would argue, thankfully), such a corner never showed up. And so I tried to walk and, somehow, I managed to make it to my office, where I, in the heat of my anger and frustration and on the verge of tears, took off my stockings as I bitched to my assistant outside her cube (a moment that was very reminiscent of Halloween 1992, when Roselle and I dressed like rock stars and I was wearing problematic pantyhose. After marching in what felt like the longest Halloween parade of my life, with the crotch of the pantyhose hovering mid-thigh, I put myself out of my misery by pulling the hose off on a street corner on my way home from school. My shocked and outraged mother and best friend, along with a city bus that happened to be pulling into that corner, were witness to my desperate action).
I hate stockings.
I hate static cling.