Fishnet Stockings

Some women look fabulous in a pair of fishnet stockings and heels.

Take these women, for example. They have nice long, slender legs.

They can wear fishnets effectively. Granted, the woman on the right looks like she needs to eat a burrito but she still looks damn good.

And this woman does a garter belt justice, so I thought I’d throw her in the mix.

I’ve worn fishnets, but they don’t look nearly as good on me as they do on these women. I don’t have legs up to my neck. Nor am I as "freak of nature" thin. Which is ok. (Don’t worry! I’m not turning this into a “whoa is me…I’m pregnant and fat” bitch session.) I'm comfortable in my skin.

Point is: I know that I don’t look as good as these women in fishnets, so I don’t wear them.

However, some women think that they do look good in them. Perhaps they fail to look in the mirror before they leave the house. Perhaps nobody has the courage to say, “Hey, those stockings look obscene in a bad way on you.”

I was at a meeting last week, where the woman who makes me want to poke her eyes out with my latte straws was the facilitator.

She had on fishnets.

She’s in her 60’s.

Now, some older babes can wear fishnets and pull it off.

But not her.

It’s not so much that she’s a senior citizen.

It’s not so much that she wore her fishnets with a straight tan skirt that hit her about mid-shin.

It's not so much that she had on a red sweater.

It’s more that she had them on with clogs.

You read that correctly.

Clogs.

What the fuck?

Now, I’m not saying that clogs aren’t comfy. Cause my good friend Melanie says they are. And Melanie could tell me just about anything and I’d believe her.

But, fishnets with clogs?

Sweet Jesus. Isn’t that one of the signs from the Four Horsemen?

Explain Yourself

Why do people feel the need to explain themselves to other people?

Specifically people they don’t know.

Today, when I got home, there was a message on our machine. Some dude called and left a lengthy message about how his vehicle was stolen and then abandoned by the thief. He went on about blah blah blah and that he only has 24 hours to get this done. He asked me to call him back, and remembered to leave his phone number just before hanging up.

If he would’ve paid any attention to the message on our machine, he would’ve heard, “This is the Kaos residence.” He was looking for some auto place. Their number is one off from ours. Granted, the number that is off is pretty big on the touchtone phone he used. The auto place has a 1 and we have a 5 where there 1 is.

So, I decide this will be my good deed for the day. It’s Monday, and I’m trying to not have a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

I call.

A chick answers.

“Jesus,” I think. I do my good deed and I get the jealous wife/girlfriend. “Yippee.”

I say, “Hi, I’m calling because Fred called me earlier about his car.”

Pause.

I continue, “He left a detailed message on my machine, and, I’m not really sure what’s happening, but I just wanted to let him know he had the wrong number.”

She said, “Oh. Thanks for calling. He only has like 24 hours to get the title transferred out of his name.”

I said, “Well, I hope that goes well. Good luck.”

And I think that’s it. But, I also think, no way you’re going to get that to happen unless you want to wait in line for a year at the courthouse to get that title transferred.

And she said, “See what happened is that his car was stolen and then it was abandoned and…”

I interrupt. Not one of the “All I really need to know I learned in kindergarten” rules, so I’m not too worried. I probably won’t hear about it from my probably long-deceased kindergarten teacher.

I said, “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m in a bit of a rush and I just wanted Fred to know he had the wrong number of whoever he was trying to get in touch with. I wish you both the best of luck with this. ‘Bye.”

She said goodbye and we hung up. But, I think she was a bit stumped at how terse I was with her.

Really, I didn’t give a shit. I mean, I hope everything gets sorted out. But, when it comes down to it, I really don’t give a shit.

But, why in the goddamn does she feel she needs to explain the situation to me?

Why in the goddamn do we feel we need to explain ourselves to other people?

I don’t even remember explaining myself to Zel, and I’m legally obligated to him.

I used to explain myself to my mother. Ok, sometimes I still explain myself to my mother. I try not to. I’m an adult. But, I think mothers have this power over daughters that cause us to crumble and explain ourselves. It can suck, really.

Does our need to explain ourselves to other people come from our own low self-esteem?

Does it come from our own guilt?

Does it come from our own desire to feel subservient to other people?

Does it come from the idea that we think the other person gives a shit? Because they probably don’t.

Unless it’s our mothers. They give a shit.