This Really Isn't My Leg...But It Is A Re-Post...

This tale from my younger days is true and was part of an e-mail sent to another blogger. I figured you might like a laugh. What was your life like back in the 1990's?

Image From Wikipedia. It is in the public domain worldwide and has been cropped. It is used here for illustrative purposes only.

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In the mid-nineties, I found myself part of a wave of thirty-somethings seeking work. On the day of an Employment Fair at my university, I arrived, CV in hand, dressed in a beautiful red skirt and matching jacket. Having taken pains to find exactly the right creamy silk blouse for the ensemble, I looked the picture of confidence.

Concluding an interview, I shook hands with the hiring manager to whom I had been speaking, leaving the room excited to be starting a job in the next two weeks.

The exits, likewise brimming with flurries of skirts and suits, all rushing to various destinations, some no doubt unforeseen, only added to my growing anticipation.

It was not until I reached the row of cars containing mine that an odd sensation gradually replaced the heady feelings I'd carried from the interview.

A small, almost imperceptible snap led to a slow downward migration until the crotch of my sheer tights rested between my knees, impeding further efforts to get to my car. 

In a split-second decision, I crouched between two Jeeps. However, removing the offending tights, and trying to jettison my favourite flats without burning my feet on hot asphalt, wasn't as easy to accomplish as I'd imagined.

No sooner was I free of shoes and busily yanking off the last shred of hosiery when I heard in booming bass: "What do you think you're doing there, Miss?"

The snapped elastic band of tights in hand, my eyes migrated to the burliest male specimen of a police officer I'd ever encountered. Tall, and exceedingly muscular, he had no discernible neck, and his light blue eyes reflected an air of impenetrable reserve and calm.

Cramming my left foot into its shoe, I decided that a quick departure was in order and pasted a smile on my face to hide rising panic.

"I had a small problem but it's over now," I said. Before he could respond, I added, "Would you be a dear and dispose of these? They've seen better days and I hate to leave a mess. Thanks ever so much."

With that, I hurled the defective hosiery in his direction, and took off toward my car, glancing backward only once to see whether he was in pursuit.

The increasing peels of laughter that met my ears only faded as the driver's door opened and I started the engine...

Until Next Time...