If You Wear Pantyhose, You Can Feel Like a Supermodel Too

The female restroom is a place of enlightenment, bursting with new experiences. I just had to pee, but well…you know how these things come out. I followed a woman into the restroom; I didn’t know her, she didn’t know me. The lady (we’ll call her Suzie) in front of me said hello to a woman (Mildred) washing her hands at the sink.

Mildred said, “Oh hello Suzie! Great minds think alike!”

Suzie, “Yes they do!” and entered a stall.

I am acquainted with Mildred, we have talked twice. However, since Mildred was already wrapped up talking to Suzie, I smiled in her direction and slipped into my own stall without a proper greeting. I almost had the door closed when Mildred sang out, “Hello Sadie!”

Isn’t it amazing how many different outcomes your mind can calculate in 0.3 seconds?

Option One: Don’t say anything.

Option Two: Leave the door closed (since it was nearly there) and say, “Hello Mildred!” from behind the stall.

Option Three: Open the stall door, give Mildred eye-contact, and politely say, “Hello Mildred, how are you today? I haven’t talked to you in a while, and since we are both in the bathroom at the same time and you are obviously just completing the action I am about to undertake, we should swap stories and chat for a while.”

Now Option One is clearly a very rude option. Mildred is a few decades my senior, and I thought I should show more respect than simply ignoring her. Option Two is a good choice, it acknowledges Mildred, but it also allows her to subtly understand the three cups of coffee that were giving my bladder muscles a work-out. Option Three is a particularly nice gesture, because, of course, eye-contact is always desirable, and I am particularly fond of Mildred so I wanted to continue to establish the idea that I would like to continue to be her acquaintance (because you see, I hadn’t conversed with Mildred for a few weeks).

In the 0.3 seconds it took me to run these options through my head, I had already closed and locked the stall door. But, since Suzie was safely tucked away in her own stall, and since I was feeling so friendly that morning, I chose Option Three. Boldly unlocking the door with a snack of the lock that did not help to hold the door shut at all, I swung wide the flimsy sheet metal, and extended my body forth.

I smiled, showing all of my teeth. “Hello Mildred!” I said in a bright, peppy voice.

Mildred was wearing a skirt. It was a nice skirt: black, simple, unwrinkled. Mildred was also wearing flesh-colored pantyhose under the skirt (on the box, it says “nude” in italics, backed up with a cut-out in the box so you can see the actual pantyhose as proof that they are indeed nude). Pantyhose are cruel. They itch, they squeeze, they make you sweat. The purpose is to instill the image that you are a skinny, tan model lying on a beach, seductively rubbing your legs. Mildred’s pantyhose were bothering her on the back of the waistband, which is where they usually bother me too. Mildred’s pantyhose were also bothering her in her crotch, and in her backside area. I was informed of this as I watched her bundle her skirt up to her waist and yank animatedly on the afflicted areas. My mouth still open to complete the soliloquy detailed in Option Three, I was thankful that my arm muscles worked faster than my jaw to close the door and leave Mildred to adjust in peace.

I don’t think she was aware that I witnessed this display. We didn’t have any eye-contact because of the slightly hunched over position in which she happened to be. With the failure of Option Three, I shrank back in my stall. Mildred said no more, and she left before I ambled, red-faced, from my throne.

I wish you the best in the new situations sure to be encountered in your female restroom experiences.