You can read Rusty's Pro-Pantyhose piece here.
1. My hoobie needs to breathe.
I live in Florida (aka The Penis of the U.S.) and it’s overly hot, humid, and ridiculously over exposed to weather that my frizzy hair could do without. As I’m attempting to calm down the ever growing afro on top of my head, the very LAST thing I want to do is add another layer of clothing down below. The whole area between the belly button and mid-thigh becomes this whole swamp-like doldrums area, where there is nothing but endless heat and moisture. At the end of the day, you’ll have the peel the damn things off of you like a snake shedding its skin.
2. Starting Campfires
And no, thigh highs aren’t the answer as I (along with many other women) suffer from the dreaded Chub Rub. Ah yes, my thighs are already rubbing together! Let’s add kindling to REALLY get this fire going. While not as bad as corduroy pants, pantyhose make that zsst zsst sound every time I take a step. I’d prefer to announce myself to the room with sight of my boobs and not the sounds of my thighs.
3. Do I really feel like have my legs encased like a boudin sausages?
No matter what the packaging says, no matter how closely you follow that idiotic sizing guide, you will inevitably buy the wrong size (and One Size Fits All can suck my left hoobie flap). Pantyhose are apparently made for some generic woman without hips, butt, calves, or any other curves. While the women who fit into this non- curvaceous category walk around like supermodels, I’m struggling to keep the crotch from falling to my knees and the thighs from exploding off of me like clothes off of the Incredible Hulk.
4. Minions of Satan
The thin strands that weave together a prison for my thighs and calves are shockingly similar to spider webs. Every time I pull on a pair, I fight the urge to claw at my legs to GETTHEGODDAMNSPIDERSOFFME, since as we all know, spiders are Satan’s boogers. Do you really want Satan’s boogers crawling up your legs? Probably not. Add to the fact that I cannot take a single step nor can I have anything touch me without fear of a goddamn snag or run. And these things will run at the mere sight of an overly sharp fingernail. How many pair have you ruined just by PUTTING THEM ON?
The only time you will catch me ever wearing these things again is if mi madre guilts me into them (she’s really good at the guilt, y’all). Otherwise, I will be free from the idiotic constraints of seemingly smooth legs. I can achieve the same look with leg waxing and a good sugar scrub. So that is what I do. Haters to the left...
2. Starting Campfires
And no, thigh highs aren’t the answer as I (along with many other women) suffer from the dreaded Chub Rub. Ah yes, my thighs are already rubbing together! Let’s add kindling to REALLY get this fire going. While not as bad as corduroy pants, pantyhose make that zsst zsst sound every time I take a step. I’d prefer to announce myself to the room with sight of my boobs and not the sounds of my thighs.
3. Do I really feel like have my legs encased like a boudin sausages?
No matter what the packaging says, no matter how closely you follow that idiotic sizing guide, you will inevitably buy the wrong size (and One Size Fits All can suck my left hoobie flap). Pantyhose are apparently made for some generic woman without hips, butt, calves, or any other curves. While the women who fit into this non- curvaceous category walk around like supermodels, I’m struggling to keep the crotch from falling to my knees and the thighs from exploding off of me like clothes off of the Incredible Hulk.
4. Minions of Satan
The thin strands that weave together a prison for my thighs and calves are shockingly similar to spider webs. Every time I pull on a pair, I fight the urge to claw at my legs to GETTHEGODDAMNSPIDERSOFFME, since as we all know, spiders are Satan’s boogers. Do you really want Satan’s boogers crawling up your legs? Probably not. Add to the fact that I cannot take a single step nor can I have anything touch me without fear of a goddamn snag or run. And these things will run at the mere sight of an overly sharp fingernail. How many pair have you ruined just by PUTTING THEM ON?
The only time you will catch me ever wearing these things again is if mi madre guilts me into them (she’s really good at the guilt, y’all). Otherwise, I will be free from the idiotic constraints of seemingly smooth legs. I can achieve the same look with leg waxing and a good sugar scrub. So that is what I do. Haters to the left...
A-fucking-men! Specially on the damned fits. The other day I found some that fit everywhere but the THIGHS. What the hell? I felt like my stomach was being squeezed to death. Fucking awful things from hell.
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