It's a Jungle Out There

I wear a lot of skirts to work. It's not because I want to, believe me, it's neither fun or graceful trying to prevent a Marilyn Monroe incident when the wind is kicking up and you are walking to your car surrounded by coworkers and potential employers. I wear skirts to work because I'm a young aspiring attorney in a field where some of the older gentlemen attorneys still think that if a woman wears pants she's trying to "be a man". Men can be so dense sometimes. So I wear a lot of skirts. And I don't mind all that much (wind episodes aside). As long as you can remember to NOT tuck your skirt into your underpants when leaving the bathroom (yes, it actually happens) skirts can be quite fun actually. They make you feel pretty and most of them have the added bonus of having stretchy waistbands, which is just grand on those "My tummy is so bloated I could pass for a pregnant lady" days. No, I like the skirt just fine, thank you. It's the pantyhose I can't stand.
I work in court, which is supposed to be a fancy, serious affair. Somehow that translates into the dress code that women should wear panty hose at all time. And in theory, I agree. Really I do. I understand that it's not very formal to see bare flesh in Court. Also, hose have the added bonus of hiding any stubbly spots you missed when shaving. But in July with 90 degree heat and a 12 minute walk to the parking garage, those hose make my legs sweat more than a guy caught cheating(I work in family court-beleive me-I know).
You would think that if pantyhose make you sweat in the summer than they most definitely make you roasty toasty in the winter. Well if you think that, you must be a male, my dear reader. Let me assure you that a thin coating of nylon has as much insulating effect as putting a piece of plastic wrap over your unmentionables before someone kicks you. Yeah, see? Not so effective.
But the havoc they wreck isn't even my biggest complaint about hose. That would be the runs. I don't have long nails. My cat stays out of my clothes drawers, and last time I checked, the walk to work does not include me climbing concrete walls or wading through a briar patch. And yet, by the end of every workday my legs look as though I've been attacked by a pissed off cheetah. It's even worse when you're wearing black stockings (as I am today) and you have a run (as I do). Suddenly I'm paranoid- i think that everyone one who looks at me is instantly drawn to my legs. I'll try everything- turning it around to make it less noticeable, pulling it up, hairspray, nail polish, prayer. And no matter what I try, inevitably when I get home tonight the reaction will be the same-" Wow, what happened to you?"