The last girl I dated was always in tights – ALWAYS. No denim, no dresses, no skirts, no nothing – just tights. Plain and simple – leggings.
Tights. They’re just so very… very… er… tight. So body hugging and so freaking tight. Why are they so clingy? Why do they need to eat up all your space in the nether lands? Why are they so bloody needy; almost insecure? Why is there no space?
Where is my space?
The thing is now I’m cold. This sham of a city, Chandigarh, is moving closer to the arctic circle with every bloody day, with every bloody globally warmed iceberg.
For crying out loud - we are supposed to be a tropical nation, not Eskimo zone dammit!
So it’s freezing and I realized that everything southwards of my waist – ass, feet, knees, vagina – are becoming colder than Russia. To prevent any further posterior frigidity, someone recommended Thermal Underwear – Thermal Long Johns to be precise.
My momma always said, “Life is like a box of knickers. If they look like tights, feel like tights, stretch like tights, then they’re not damned Long Johns you fool – they’re tights.”
But oh bloody God – they’re so, they’re so, so, soooooooh… comforting.
They’re so accommodating, all encompassing, and warm and do everything to make you feel so very secure.
They just give and give and give and give.
It’s like their second nature.
They’re like Mother Nature – there is so much give.
So kids, I don't know how I met your mother, but when in doubt - wear tights.
P.S. Superman, Hulk Hogan, Robin Hood – thank you!