A meeting and a locked adult restroom door behind me, I reached into my bag, thankful that I had prepared for this moment.
My daughter’s words rang in my ears: “Mom, aren’t you going to be cold?” she had asked me as I scrambled to get out the door this morning. She had seen my skirt and, even as she got dressed in layer after layer, she had worried about me.
“I have to present today, and I always get hot in this skirt,” I had told her. “But, don’t worry, I packed a pair of leggings just in case.”
Did you forget to pack the leggings, after all?
Knees shivering, teeth chattering, I pulled the black leggings from the front pocket of my computer bag.
No, that’s not it.
Feeling very grown up and incredibly responsible, I balanced on my right foot and tried to pull on one leg without taking off my boots.
Did you lose your balance and fall on the floor of the bathroom?
The heel kept catching just after the toes were in, even though I tried to point my foot as straight as a ballet dancer’s toe shoe. Frustrated that this was taking so long, I firmly planted both feet back on the bathroom floor.
No, you didn’t fall. Where is this story going? Will something fall in the toilet?
Like a mom puts socks on a toddler, I wadded the same leg up until my thumbs and fingers looped through to the ankle end. I tried again. Balancing on my right foot, I plunged the toe of my left boot into the center of the hole. This didn’t work either.
Why don’t you just take your boots off ?
I did the responsible thing: I took my left boot off and–
Eww, gross, you took your boots off in the bathroom?
afraid to put my stockinged sock down on the public restroom floor–I stood on my boot
Phew, that was a close one. So, now we’ve solved your little problem, right?
and tried again. Left hand still holding the wadded up leg, I joined it with my right hand and stuck my foot through. Eureka!
Congratulations, you put your pants on one leg at a time just like the rest of us. Why isn’t this the end of the story?
As anyone who has ever worn skin-tight anything on their legs knows, you can’t put both legs in without hitching one side up high enough to avoid falling over like your shoelaces are tied together. So, I went to work wriggling the wrinkles of my left-legging leg up above my knee.
Wow! The alliteration in that last sentence might be the only thing keeping my attention.
That’s when it caught my eye.
Wait. What caught your eye?
Not the adult 7/8 that would have me jumping for joy–even in bare feet on a bathroom floor–to celebrate having trimmed down to my pre-marital figure.
No, this was the 7-8 that comes two sizes after the 2T-3T.
Feeling completely ridiculous and now not the least bit cold, I stuffed my daughter’s leggings back in the front pocket of my computer bag, slipped my boots back on, and rehearsed the story that I would tell my husband. It was then–in the telling–that I knew what today’s slice would be. Because…
These ain’t your mama’s!
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