If you get to work and only then realize that the clothes you wore are going to cause problems all day long, what do you do? Yeah, me too.
That was me yesterday.
I never gave a thought to the potential problems this thing would cause me and how much of the day I would spend trying to prevent accidents, untangle myself from mishaps, and generally take care not to be disrobed by said blouse.
It’s a beautiful blouse – that may spend the rest of its life in a closet.
Not only does it have one of those gorgeous handkerchief hemlines, it is pieces of fabric held together by a type of crochet conveniently called ‘hairpin lace’. Don’t ask, because I don’t know. Google if you need to.
Hairpin lace has larger holes in it than normal crochet. This caused problems number 3 and 7 for the day. Problems 1,2,4,5, and 6 were caused by the handkerchief hemline.
I am short, well I’m perfect for my size, but when compared to others they have more height than I do.
Blouses with handkerchief hemlines are made to be long on the average person.
That means for me they land somewhere between my hips and my knees – the normal part of the blouse. The handkerchiefy pieces land farther south.
During a somewhat normal day I go to the ladies room 4 or 5 times. On handkerchief hemline wearing days that number doubles, or even triples.
Every time I went to attend to business I had to gather the handkerchief hemline in my hands and hold it in this position before it found itself wet from water in the facilities, wet from me, or other catastrophes.
After the third time I wished the beautiful and expensive blouse with the handkerchief hemline in hell, or perhaps flushed. I didn’t care which.
Thanks when problem number 3 surfaced.
I normally wear pants and shirts to work. My choice of pants being Dockers.
Dockers have buttons on the pockets in the back.
Remember the hairpin lace part of the blouse with large holes in it.
And perfect for buttons to become entangled in. With my pants between my hips and my knees.
On my backside.
The part of my body that I can’t see.
The blouse and the pants were in a tussle, I was the referee, and neither side was giving an inch or even a quarter inch.
I needed to get the blouse off to get the tangle free but the pants wouldn’t cooperate. I needed to get the blouse down and around so I could see.
Nope wasn’t happening.
I was phone-less, friendless, and scissorless. Hell, I didn’t even have my pocketknife with me.
I pulled up, the pants fell farther down.
I twisted, followed by swearing, followed by loud knocking at the door and offers of help.
I snatched at the hairpin lace trying to free it from the button.
I wiggled trying to get out of the blouse.
I cursed. I swore. I threatened the designer, the clothes maker, the merchandiser, the website from which the blouse was purchased, and even my credit card company for allowing the purchase to go through.
I heard a rip.
I was free.
I finished what I had went there to do and then went back to work.
I did not check to see the state of disrepair of the blouse.
I didn’t care and I didn’t care if my arse was hanging out.
Said blouse is in the closet where it shall remain until I become 5’ 6” or it learns to play nicely with my pants.
……….and we wait.
From the life and mine of Wanda M. Argersinger
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