Farewell fishnets

I threw away all my fishnet stockings yesterday. Even the ones with the silver seams up the back. Not much call for fishnet stockings with silver seams at school pick-up. Despite there being a disproportionate number of retrenched dads loitering around. Way too obvious … Joke. My wardrobe cull has reached the underwear drawer, where I’ve tossed all the yellow (formerly white) undies, all the grey (formerly black) undies, all the white undies with grey seams (that I accidentally washed with the black undies), all the lone socks and all the fishnets. I went through a serious fisnet phase a few years back, when my legs – and the rest of me – got skinny. I wore them with teeny tiny dresses, which I now use as tops. I figured I was 40, I might as well have a last hurrah while I had the chance and the pins for it. I was mainly into black fishnets, but I was quite fond of the nude ones as well. The ironic thing is I hate stockings. They’re horrible, synthetic, claustrophobic things. But I wore them because I worked in a building where being fashionably attired was as much your job description as computer skills. My fishnets were matched with stylish but uncomfortable shoes to ensure I had the right look. Life as a stay-at-home mother doesn’t require fishnet stockings or uncomfortable shoes. Bless it. The fishnets are gone but the uncomfortable shoes remain. I can’t throw away footwear with labels like Marc By Marc Jacobs or Siegerson Morrison on it. There’s a chance I might work again someday, they might come in handy. I’ll pretend they’re vintage. I figure I’ll buy new fishnets if I ever get another job, they can be a little present to myself to celebrate.
PS I fully intended to blog about something meaningful today, but Sprog 1 slammed her finger in the car door yesterday yesterday arvo (door completely shut, finger still in it) and things went a bit pear-shaped after that. I needed several glasses of wine and a nice lie down to recover. Sprog 1 expressed the desire to have several glasses of wine and a nice lie down too, but had to made do with an ice brick. Thankfully, the finger’s not broken, just purple and swollen. I took a photo and sent it to Husband for a second opinion on what to do – other than panic – while Sprog 2 started empathetically screaming in the background. (Band-aids freak her out, so her sister almost losing a finger almost sent her over the edge. Sprog 1 was most annoyed, pointing out SHE was the one in extreme pain.) My chest still gets tight just thinking about it.