She's Got L'eggs

“She’s got legs, and she knows how to use them,” sang the L’eggs advertisements back in the day. I didn’t realize how far back in the day until I read an article saying that L’eggs was running its first advertisements in 15 years. Apparently they believe that Kate Middleton and 80 year old women around the globe are enough to bring the torture devices back.

I own exactly one pair of panty hose, which I bought for my first job eight years ago. They’re still in the cardboard container. I keep them because I like to imagine the look on some alien archeologist’s face when he comes to learn about the life that used to inhabit Earth and finds a pair of pantyhose. Because how funny is it to think of an alien picking those up, thinking WTF, and then trying to figure out WTF those were used for, much less why they were created?

Today I wore a pair of tights, thinking they couldn’t possibly be as bad as panty hose were. After all, everyone else looks so cute in them. Tights are only mildly less annoying than panty hose. They are just warmer and still a huge inconvenience. And aside from the extra effort they take every time a bathroom break is taken, they just plain don’t fit right. I have never found a pair of panty hose or tights that fit right. I’m convinced that not a single pair of them actually fit a woman in the world. They come in exactly three sizes for a million different body sizes. We can come up with hundreds of styles and sizes for jeans, but we can’t create panty hose that fit a person? How utterly ridiculous is that? As I write this, I’m constantly adjusting the tights that in order to fit over my legs, also have to be long enough to reach my neck. I wish I were joking.

I’ve read multiple articles about how Kate Middleton wears panty hose and if anyone is going to bring them back its her. Kate is beautiful, but I’m willing to bet that she wouldn’t wear them either if she didn’t have to. Panty hose are a propriety thing. And an old fashioned thing. All of which the British monarchy represents. You think she’s choosing to wear panty hose? Please, she wears them because if she didn’t, instead of writing articles about how she’s bringing them back the media would be focusing on how un-proper, un-ladylike and un-royal she is.

You know who openly admits to disliking panty hose? Michelle Obama. I’m siding with her. Plus her arms are amazing. Until they can make me panty hose that actually fit, I’m out. Someone please invent the tights or panty hose where I can buy them by leg width and length, so I don’t have to wear them up to my neck, as well as ones that aren’t so tight at the waste that they squeeze fat out of a Victoria Secret model. I recommend that whoever created the yoga pant work on the tights issue. Until then, L’eggs, good luck bringing panty hose back into style.

Gobble Gobble

I love tradition, especially around the holidays. For me, the holidays aren’t about the feast or the presents, but about being with family. Unfortunately this year, what has become my Thanksgiving tradition is not happening. Normally I head to my Auntie Gayle and Uncle Jeff’s house and stay with them for the long weekend, as it is a long trip to Montana for dinner. This year, they have opted to visit their youngest son in Denver, leaving their two older children, their spouses and I adrift on Turkey Day.

So my Turkey tradition since I started college is not happening this year. I was pondering what to do when my dad offered to fly me home. It’s so rare that I get to go home to Montana during any part of the year other than Christmas, I took him up on it. One of my ousted cousins and her husband are also coming over to MT to eat turkey.

Going home for Thanksgiving got me thinking about my holiday memories. Don’t be horrified by this next statement, but the food isn’t my favorite part. I know, the horror. But let’s think about this, even though I’m a slightly less picky eater now than I was a kid, I still don’t like my food to touch. Feast days designed around seeing how much food you can fit onto a single plate are tough on a girl who still doesn’t like her mashed potatoes touching the stuffing.

I don’t remember how old I was for the worst Thanksgiving ever. We lived in the little blue house in town, although since my parents painted it soon after buying it, I’m not sure why I still think of it as the little blue house. I’m guessing I was still in elementary school, somewhere between 3rd and 6th grades. That was the year my mom not only made every horrible vegetable you can think of, but also made me try all of them. Instead of my plate being covered in my favorite mashed potatoes and gravy, it had the dreaded brussel sprouts and squash on it. Luckily, after gagging repeatedly while still at the table, I was sent to the bathroom while everyone else finished dinner. Fine by me as long as I didn’t have to eat the damn sprouts and squash.

To this day, the idea of squash still makes my stomach turn. For the first time in 20 years, a brussel sprout passed my lips this past spring. But only because my aunt drowned them in butter. They weren’t terrible. I’d consider eating them again if they were baked.

Now since I rarely go home for Thanksgiving, I can submit my food requests. Ironically, things that I didn’t like as a kid are on the list now. I’m talking pierogi’s, not squash and brussel sprouts. And now the Thanksgiving I spent in the bathroom is a funny memory for all. Jokes on you squash.

Responsible is the New Sexy

One of my dearest and closest friends often describes me as stable. It’s true, I am. But that isn’t the first adjective I want used to describe me to the opposite sex. Stable isn’t sexy and alluring. Almost any other adjective would be better. Cute, witty, smart, short, great taste in shoes, outdoorsy, citified, and sarcastic or as one friend likes to say about me, I have some bite. Stable? How boring is that. And I am, stable and what could be perceived as boring, but that isn’t exactly fly paper for the opposite sex.

Ironically, I was talking to a friend about guys and she mentioned having a single guy friend. She went on to describe him as cute, responsible, has a good job, lives downtown, etc. My response? “You had me at responsible.” At what age do we forgo the sexier adjectives and start becoming attracted to the boring adjectives like responsible and stable?

We used to want to date the high school quarterback because he was a jock and that position is perceived as sexy. Now we want to date the guy who brings home a consistent paycheck, pays his student loans on time and doesn’t have credit card debt. Smoking used to be the major deal-breaker. As you get older and build your own life, fiscal irresponsibility ends up at the top of that list as well. Even my friends who are married say one of the things they love most about their spouse is that they are responsible.

If what we perceive as desirable in the opposite sex changes this much from ages 15 to 30, I can’t imagine what I’ll be looking for when I’m 80. Teeth, perhaps?