I'm in the bathroom scrunching up a pair of pantyhose into both sides of my palms and pulling them over my toes, up the length of my calves. They stick at my thighs, seemingly too short to reach my hips. I think, "Frick. I bought the wrong size." But my confusion lingers. I purposely read the size chart on the back of the package, and this should be my size?
I tease them up my calves, tugging where any millimeter of material will give. Finally I squeeze myself in. I feel them press against the outsides of my thighs, like a ring around the largest diameter. A sensory memory resurrects itself.