Wednesday, December 19, 2007

The Most Un-lady-like Grown Up Lady in the World

Wednesday, December 19, 2007
I have to say, the staff at the Fairmont hotels are always very, very helpful. So conscientious, so sensitive, so willing to bend over backwards to help their guests. It sort of creeps me out, but I could really get used to that level of service- you know, "Can I carry your bag up those two steps, Miss?" or "Can I open the door for you, Miss?" or "Do you need a taxi, Miss?" are standard hotel fare. But at the Fairmont, you get "Would you prefer down or fibre pillows, Miss?", "We've set the radio station in the room to your preference, Miss" and "Can I bring you some tea, Miss?" or the morning wake up call of "Can we send you the weather forecast, Miss?", "Globe and Mail or National Post, Miss?" and the room service "May I pour you a cup of coffee, Miss?".

It's the only time I ever agree to be called Miss. I'm firmly a Ms. kind of gal, but when someone in a red coat and tails, with a fur hat and shiny brass buttons says it, I can't help but be charmed.

Anyway, back to the subject line. So we all know that I have extreme hosiery dysfunction. Yesterday, I was minding my own business, working in Toronto, wearing a cute skirt and tights. Disaster. The tights, they gave up at about 9:15 am. Slowly, they started to roll down my hips, slide down my legs- until I was trying to walk bow-legged, in an attempt to keep them from falling off completely. How something that is designed to be SKIN TIGHT can fall off, I do not know. I don't understand nylon or lycra or whatever the hell tights are made of. Physics. Damn you, science.

So I devised a system that involved hiking the waistband up nearly to my bustline, then pulling the waistband of my skirt down across my hips so it was quite snug. I looked ridiculous. But it was working.

Until about 6:42pm. When I was walking back from the office to pick up my bags.

The tights, they gave up.

I was casually, yet purposefully, striding through the lobby of the hotel, high heels clicking on the marble floor. My tights were not-so-casually, but with an equal amount of purpose, sliding quickly to the same marble floor.

I looked around. I panicked. No powder room in sight.

I looked around. No one was watching. I ducked into a corner.

I stripped off my tights in the lobby of the Royal York Hotel, triumphantly balancing on one, high-heeled foot (because I wasn't taking both my shoes off at once), stripping the tights off my left calf, when I heard someone clear their throat.

"Can I...help you with that, Miss?"

Cue red-coated bellboy, enter stage left.

Cue total loss of Megan's dignity, exit stage right.

9 comments:

Carmen P said...

I laughed out loud at this one, babe. Hil-arious!

Snowflake said...

Did I not give you some motherly advise about wearing tights?

Skeets Ding Dong said...

"Wanna make out, Miss?"

"May I release 10,000 angry bees into your room, Miss?"

"Would you like an angry polar bear wakeup, Miss?"

I HAVE LASERS FOR HANDS!

joyous holiday season!!!!!!!!!!!!

Meg said...

I am very confused...you ate santa?!

Anonymous said...

I was very hungry.

Anonymous said...

Well I mean, I still am.. I really only ate 2 tacos from that Taco Time in South Centre..

Meg said...

Now I'm really confused!


And craving Tacos.

Anonymous said...

Maybe you should wear tacos instead of nylons?

alex said...

LOL!!!

i mean... ahem. you're hilarious. miss. :)

but really... suspenders...???