Warning: Attack of chicken-ey calves about to follow.
In my effort to say Damn the Man and fight the system, I don’t wear pantyhose. In fact, until recently I didn’t own pantyhose. (Funeral type events, Catholic guilt and crying family members, particularly all at once, will squeeze me into a pair of panty hose before you can say “God is watching.”) Although I still contend that my 11 years of Catholic school and plaid skirts have prevented, for the most part, my legs from getting cold and allow them, rather, to go straight from warm to numb, Midwestern winds have won out and, dammit, sometimes my legs get cold now. So I have begun to wear, on occasion, trouser socks.
(Side note: In high school my friend Lisa and some others of us would latch onto a word. One day the word was trouser. Lisa went on a date — a pretty big event for those in my group of friends — and proceeded to use the word trouser over and over during the date. Try saying it a few times today. You will get funny looks and probably not asked out on follow-up dates.)
The other day I redeemed a Christmas gift card in a sickly stupor and walked out of the store with only very practical items like trouser socks and underwear.
Now to set this up, I must remind you that I am tall — 5’ 11” and -– and have big feet -– size 10. Socks and tights and such aren’t made for me. They are made for small people. Honest. So imagine my surprise when I pull on my trouser socks. Rather than the knee highs I am used to and associate with the third grade, these trouser socks were thigh highs. Whose calves were these intended to cover?
Probably much to my mother’s delight, on option when wearing these socks is to fold them over.
And this brings me to that third grade comment. A little bit about style in the third grade, when every item of your clothing is dictated by a strict dress code monitored by nuns. In our dress code in the third grade (green plaid jumper, white shirt –- peter pan collared being the coolest, leather shoes -– Easton’s with the shoelaces curled being the only acceptable option and dear God help you if you wear gray, leather shoes from Naturalizer in the seventh grade and never live it down and navy socks) there was little room for acceptable self-expression. Instead we followed an unwritten rule of blending in. This included, very much so, what types of socks you wore. The coolest were knit knee socks work slouched down around your ankles. Not remotely cool to wear nylon knee socks. And not in any way was it even remotely cool to wear them folder over at your knees. As my mom insisted. As she insisted on buying the nylon socks. And so every day after I left my house and walked out of sight of my mother, I did the only acceptable thing for a girl in the third grade to do. Doughnut rolls.
Which brings me to present day. WHAT happened to the doughnut roll, man??? Why do old ladies have the market corned on doughnut rolls?
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