Pantihose

Is "pantihose" making a comeback? I think so, and I hope so. In fact, for some of us ladies, we've never stopped wearing them.

A friend and I were having lunch at a restaurant last week. It wasn't busy and I quietly drew attention to the nice attire of our waitress.

I said discretely to my friend, "Are those pantihose?"

She discretely answered, "I think they are."

She looked comfortable and perfectly put together.

When did wearing pantihose fall from favour, and who makes those rules?

Back in the 70's when I was in High School, coloured hose was all in fashion. I had just arrived after garter belts and nylons went by the wayside, thank god. But us teenie boppers were sporting navy blue, plum, black, or pink pantihose, along with the nude, or natural. Those mini skirts weren't complete without them, nor the hot pants we were wearing.

When I started working at the CIBC at the age of 18, we didn't have to be told that we were expected to wear business casual or office wear. And if you thought to skip the hose, well, you'd have been taken aside, told to lock your till and get your arse and bare legs across the street to Larters, where there was hose of every kind.

Natural colour, of course.

Those were the days.

And of course, nurses in those days wore white uniforms and were totally decked out in white hose, with sparkling white duty shoes. They looked so smart.

And for a time, I found and loved wearing pantihose that had a discrete but pretty pattern on the ankle. Sometimes you'd find a pair with sequins, dandy for wedding get ups. They were in style for a short while.

These days, you'd be hard put to find displays of pantihose, black, white or otherwise in our local drugstores. I have a stash that I wear from time to time, and wash carefully. I enjoy wearing skirts, albeit my mini skirt days are long in the past. When I attend a wake or funeral and choose to wear a dress, I always wear hose, even if I wear my dress boots. It feels dressed and put together. And let's face it ladies, the old gams aren't what they used to be. They're somewhat the worse for wear. Our skin isn't what it used to be, veins are looking like a tangled ball of yarn, and the muscles are pretty tough mutton, not smooth like they used to be. That's just me now............

Now that I'm retired I don't have much occasion to dress up anymore. There's not much in the way of weddings, work place meetings or out of province conferences any more. I have a couple of funny stories for you, though.

Back in my Johnson Shore days, I did all the Inn housekeeping for Julie and Arla. I learned a lot from them and they'd have to admit they learned a few things from me. Mostly about being Canadian, but that's another story for another day.

I got to work one fine day and Arla said, "Pop up to Room 9 and see what you think."

Well, I knew they were pretty careful about their clientele, so I was prepared for anything.

But I'd never seen anything quite like it, nor had I ever had to resort to behaviour such as this.

They'd had quite a chuckle about it, as their guests found a way to freshen up their unmentionables while travelling. A few minutes with the ceiling fan on, and voila!

You just can't make that shit up.

A few years ago I was asked to read at a family funeral. No one wants to, but somebody has to, so how could I refuse. I had a new black pencil skirt and a fetching new top to go with it. Now, to be truthful, it was a wrap style top and quite fitted, and I have a generous bosom to wrap, but it was the right outfit, right time.

Tasteful black pumps and a new pair of pantihose. (And why do we refer to them as a pair, when clearly it's one single garment.....) I felt respectful and comfortable.

After the funeral was over and we all gathered for the lunch down street, I was chatting with one of our dearest neighbours at the time, Bernadette Paquet, a beautiful lady who still keeps in touch with us. She and Maynard were the best.

She sort of nodded at my chest and commented, "That's quite the top you have on there, Nova.........no hiding the girls."

And quick as a wink, I came back with, "Well, Bernadette, it's like this. If they're looking at my tits, they're not looking at my hair."

Enough said.