Sunday, December 15, 2013

L'eggs Oh

Is this title too obscure? Sorry, children.

Auntie was trying to be funny by conflating the slogan “Leggo my Eggo™!“ with the idea of L’eggs™ and kick in some foreshadowing in the process.

It’s all because of my little dog Jonah, who doesn’t wear socks, let alone pantyhose, but would happily steal your frozen waffle if he could reach it.

Robert was busy, so I walked the dog yesterday morning. For context, it was just before noon on a sunny Saturday. This matters because there were tons of people out and about so the walk took forever because the little beast is not only adorable and knows how to work it, but old and crotchety to boot.

No, he doesn’t wear boots either. Focus, people!

We passed a group of women, probably realtors, who were happily and busily going door to door. I say realtors because the church people had already been by and most of them were men, but it doesn’t matter. The women could have been anything. The important thing is their legs.

They were all wearing pantyhose.

I haven’t even owned pantyhose since I was in my 20s. I didn’t wear them much even then, but I had them. Maybe in case a pantyhose emergency cropped up. I dunno.

Our paths kept crossing, mostly because Jonah planted himself like a teeny tiny sumo wrestler and refused to budge whenever they were nearby. So I had a lot of time to think.

Do they even make those little plastic eggs with pantyhose in them anymore and if not, when did they stop? Did I notice at the time? Did the world change when they went away?

If that’s not loopy enough, I started getting loopier, as one does when one is – and has been for a while -- standing around waiting for a little dog.

In all the infinite futures, was there one in which I would now be wearing pantyhose? Which decision turned me away from that?

Considering that I saw Xanadu in the theaters at least 3 or 4 times, you’d think my legs would be laminated with an uncomfortable and shiny off-beige polymer. They’re not.

I don’t eat frozen waffles, either.

(In case you’re curious, they stopped marketing pantyhose in plastic eggs back in the 90s. There’s a dinosaur joke in there somewhere.)

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