no, you must have me confused with someone else. it's the tights. no, I understand. have a great day...
there's something empowering about wearing tights. for me, anyways. I mean, unless they're the little white ones you're putting onto a small girl, tights totally rock. black stretchy ones, striped ones, wooly ones (sometimes), all kinds of them. it's like somewhere along the lines, tights made a statement. like, I'm not a little girl anymore. look at these bad-ass tights I got. don't they rock? no, controllers of the free world, I will not wear your nude pantyhose. no, naysaying elderly ladies, I will not fall prey to your suntan falsities with reinforced toe. no. I rock. I have tights, dammit.
we go from girl to almost woman to woman - and there's certain ones of us that go through the same stages of tights. they're important to me, ever since the red-black-and-white striped pair I wore with my red jumper and brown knee high lace-ups that kristy lent me that fateful day in new haven. tights can be punk rock or not. tights can change an outfit from drab to the kind of outfit that - well, that a girl that wears tights would wear. tights are teenage angst and all kinds of angela chase-y. tights make me love the cold, because you can't wear them once spring comes. I don't, anyways. tights hold memories and markers in their very being.
tights. even the word is good. like lite brite, only different. tights tights tights.
so I got ready to go to therapy this morning, favorite thrift store knee length stretchy black skirt in tow. blue old navy tshirt with grey thermal underneath. and my docs. and I felt tough and empowered. and I didn't have any pantyhose - as I thought of putting these things on while I showered, I thought I might have thrown out my last pair. so somewhere around ten thirty, on the way to coffee with raf, we stopped at walgreens to get him a heating pad. and lo and behold, next to rows of appropriate hose and trouser socks, were simple, stretchy black tights. waiting, between knee high and control top. I skipped past the easter chocolate and handed my find to the cashier triumphantly.
cut to me sitting on the floor of the starbucks bathroom (it's a super clean one out near amity), boots askew, socks shoved in the pocket of my vest, feet and then knees and then thighs inside soft stretchy tights. I put my boots back on and stood up. it was like a magic cape had been thrown over my shoulders. I was tough and strong and wore tights and fuck you if you didn't like it. I pulled my bangs down across my forehead and got my misto from the bar. I pulled my skirt up past my knee to show raf. "see? tights." he nodded. I didn't expect him to get it - it's really only a girl thing, and only for a few of us at best. we slipped back into the car and went on with our day.
and now here I sit at work, tights on the brain. all day I've felt awesome about these frigging tights. besides the trip to the psychiatrist this morning, it was the best money I spent all day.
maybe I'll get some fishnets next week.