Oh yeah, I’m HIP… *

Oh yeah, I’m on the cutting edge…

On my way home yesterday, it became apparent that I could never be one of those kids who wears his pants half-way down his ass.  As I was cutting through the Via Rail parking lot, I could feel the waistband of my tights begin to give.  I’ve had these tights for probably a decade – it’s understandable that they might be giving up the ghost.

By the time I was over the tracks making my way down George Street, the crotch of my tights had descended by at least 3 inches – I could feel the air gap under my hooha getting wider… and wider.  Another half a block and I could now feel my underwear, in apparent solidarity, beginning to give up its tenacious hold on my hips and slide downward.  My skirt was a scant inch below my coat and even though I tried my best to surreptitiously hitch up the tights on my upper thighs, I knew I couldn’t get them up high enough without showing my wares to the public.  Fuck it!  I thought, glancing around the vacant street, and hiked everything up.  There!  Good to go.  Only 5 blocks and I’d be home.

Nope, the tights were apparently dead.  The closer I came to the main road and actual people, the more my waistband lolled around like a llama in a coma.  I crossed the next intersection and could feel air, ice cold Canadian air, on my ass crack… and then seconds later, as my underwear fell, I could feel that same ice cold Canadian air, underneath the shelf of my ass.  I was now striding like a bow-legged cowboy, thighs wide apart, praying that the tights and underwear wouldn’t get to my knees before I made it home.  Laughing maniacally the entire way – wondering how it is that all those near-pantless kids in high school can stand it.  How do they not just go into hysterics every time they leave the house?  I almost fell 12 times and I was walking 5 blocks.

As soon as I closed my front door, those tights came off.  I held them before me like the Olympic torch and walked majestically towards the kitchen.

“You have served me well opaque black tights.  Thank you for your years of service.  But this, my friend, shall be a one-time anecdote – you shall not betray me again.  Adieu.” 

I have to say though, it was pretty invigorating, having -17 degree air whistling through my nethers.  Perhaps on one of those ‘hard to wake up’ mornings, I just won’t wear underwear to work.

*This post used to be entitled, Oh yes, I’m ‘GANGSTA’…  It was brought to my attention last week that the word ‘gangsta’ can have racial overtones.  Please, let me know your thoughts on the ‘G’ word and whether its common cultural use today causes you offense.