We’re slightly less than two weeks out from the release of The Darkening, and I’m SWAMPED! So, sweet readers, I’m pulling an old post out of the closet, blowing the dust off, and giving it a second go. Enjoy!
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There are some things that bring balance to the universe. A wrinkled, toothless great-grandparent holding an smooth-skinned but equally toothless grandchild. Thanksgiving gluttony (one of my absolute favorites) followed by grueling New Year’s resolutions. Elaine from Seinfeld dancing at a party and Mikhail Baryshnikov dancing in Giselle. Some of these ying-to-yang scenarios are altogether pleasant – who doesn’t love seeing generations of families love one another? Some of them are comical (personally, I find Elaine and Baryshnikov equally entertaining, though in different ways). But sometimes, balance is achieved only through the age-old dilemma that has plagued us since the dawn of man:
Good vs. Evil.
If you’re a woman, and heck, in some cases, if you’re a man, there is a better chance than not that you’ve experienced pure evil in your life.
I’m talking about…(dum, dum, dummmm)…Pantyhose.
Pantyhose aren’t simply a harbinger of evil. They are evil. It’s true. All the red flags are there to warn us:
*Tiny packaging. I mean, come on. How can something that can literally fit into an Easter egg actually be expected to comfortably fit over half my body?
*Unnatural colors. Remember Data from Star Trek? They chose the color ‘natural’ based on his skin tone. The Oompa Loompa’s from Charlie and the Chocolate factory? Yeah, that’s ‘tan’. Oh, and don’t forget the weird, off-black color. They got that from the Uruk-hai in Tolkien’s novels. Not exactly flattering.
*Words like ‘Extra Support’ and ‘Queen’. These seem like good, positive words, right? They’re not. They’re well-crafted lies from the Evil One (aka, Pantyhose). Extra Support means “Squeeze your fat behind in these and I’ll remind you all day how imperfect you are.” Queen was a term Pantyhose used to describe size when I was younger. Sounds nice, right? It’s not. Instead of meaning a woman or thing regarded as excellent or outstanding of its kind (straight from the dictionary, thank you), what Pantyhose really means is, “You ate two dozen donuts yesterday and now I’m mocking you.” Pantyhose is that ‘friend’ who says nice things to you, but the meaning is something different. Way, way different.
Don’t get me wrong. I still succumb to the lure of hosiery from time to time. It happens. Spanx has an undeniable siren song – I think many of you would agree. After a few kids, the lure of a smooth mid-section is…intoxicating. But I’m not here to discuss whether we should or shouldn’t wear them – I’m here to discuss how the evil they’ve forced the world to put on one ridiculously constricting and fragile (don’t get me started about runs!) leg at a time has been evened out.
Let me introduce you, my friends, to the DISHWASHER.
How many of us grew up washing dishes by hand? How many of us, even now, find ourselves at this chore after dinner? I’ve been there, through the bulk of my childhood, and most of my adult life. Some homes we’ve lived in have had dishwashers, others haven’t. The last five years were spent in a house sans dishwasher (and abnormally low countertops, which meant washing dishes was a major pain in the…).
We recently moved – into a house with a bright, shiny new dishwasher. And I was reminded how lovely a contraption it is.
My dishwasher delivers on his promises. He washes my dishes. He dries my dishes. He sterilizes our sippy cups. He doesn’t balk at pots and pans, and he handles my wine glasses with white gloves. There is no false flattery here – he doesn’t tell me what I want to hear, and then snigger behind my back. No, folks. The Dishwasher is a class act (much like my dryer, Mr. Rochester).
If Pantyhose are Pure Evil, then Dishwashers are our Knights in Shining Armor. Sure, the two foes may fight on different battlefields, but I’m convinced a victory in the kitchen can overcome a ruined day from a run in those off-black stockings. A clean kitchen in half the time at night can make up for the oncoming morning where you must wrestle yourself into a pair of unyielding and mocking Spanx in the name of fashion.
Tell me your thoughts! Who out there is with me? Or do you belong to Team Pantyhose and are itching to put me in my place like a size-too-small-girdle-strength-support-top-incarnation-of-evil? 🙂 I open myself up to any and all comments!
Big grins,
Myn
Myndi Shafer 