The Wedding Mistakes….

We were invited to a wedding on New Years Eve. Before I get into the typical “Kyla-like” things that happened, I want to add that this was probably the most loving wedding I have ever attended. For some reason, weddings can be stiff and awkward. Have you noticed that? Not this one. It was full of love, kisses and hugs and…..

…. my rolling down panty hose.

Twenty minutes before we have to leave for the wedding. I notice that the panty hose I have is for a 170-210 lb woman who is 5’5. I am 5’8. So the crotch of the panty hose came to my upper thigh. I could have carried my purse in the crotch.

On the way to the wedding, we stopped at the “Fat Girl” store.

I run in, wearing heels, which I don’t do very well anyways and look at the sales girl in the eye and yell, “YOU. I need help. I need black pantyhose, I am 200 pounds and 5’8!”

She honestly looked scared of me.  As I am paying and telling my story like a mad woman, the saleslady suggests I run into the change room and put on the proper fitting pantyhose.

I look at her as if she is the stupidest person on earth and I snarl very calmly,” No, I don’t want to do that.”

And run out the door.

That,  my friends, would be mistake #1.

Because after the lovely wedding, while standing at the very busy bar, I feel my pantyhose start rolling down my leg. There is nothing I can do to stop it.

Sheer panic.

I start doing the hula.

I put my legs far apart.

I squat like I am giving birth.

Honey, we’re going down.

I squat jump behind the bar, do a squat and threaten the bartender, “DO NOT LOOK AT ME.”

I manage to sort of roll them up to my chubby thighs. And then I run to the bathroom, past the receiving line and change into pantyhose that actually fits my fat ass.

The ones I just bought.

The ones the sale lady told me to put on.

So, yeah. She was right.

Now for Mistake #2.

I have become one of those parents. I took my three year old to the wedding.

Collective Gasp.

I know, I know, I know.

I know.

I wanted her to dance, I wanted her to see the bride, I wanted everyone to see her in her cute little dress.

Was she the only three year old there?  Yup. By a long shot.

Was she well behaved?  Nope. Not by a long shot.

Did she pull up my dress over her head at the dessert table?  Yup.  And you couldn’t have missed that. Not from the cheap seats.