Childhood Joys Of Pantyhose

At the dinner table tonight, my grandma and aunt were talking about funny things I used to do as a little kid.  One in particular gave us all a good laugh.  

My mom never let me have long hair when I was little, which just made me want long hair even more.  If I had long hair, I imagined I would look like a princess.  At one point, my hair was cut so short that a woman in the grocery store looked at me and said, "Oh, what a cute little boy!"

I was immediately scarred.  Soon after, I took action against the oppressed state of my hair.

After seeing the movie Aladin, I must have developed a strange obsession with princess Jasmine's long black ponytail that always bounced behind her.  This was completely unrealistic cartoon hair, but Jasmine's locks were all I wanted in life and I was determined to have them for myself.

When I was about five, we were at my grandma's house where my aunt also lived at the time.  Bored, I went into my aunt's bedroom to play.  I opened her drawers and found a wealth of pantyhose in shades of nudes and blacks.

This is a classic case of a kid finding amusement in the most unexpected objects, the way babies open a toy on Christmas morning but have more fun crinkling the wrapping paper than they do playing with the toy.

These pantyhose kept me occupied longer than any Barbie or tea set.  I would intricately tie them across my aunt's bed posts and drape towels over them to create forts, or just indulge my hands in their fragile, stretchy texture.

After a while, the true calling of these pantyhose finally came to me.

I took a black pair and stretched the open end over my head, like a hair net.  The two empty legs hung down on each side of my face and reached my waist.  I looked in the mirror at myself, and instead of seeing a little girl with black pantyhose stretched on her head, I saw princess Jasmine with her long flowing black hair.

Finally my prayers had been answered.

Delighted, I made a beeline to the living room where my grandma was reading on the couch.  I was feeling rather fabulous with my new hairdo, so I sauntered down the stairs, one hand on my hip and the other flipping my new nylon locks as I said in a low, seductive voice: "How...do you like...my hair?"

Needless to say, my grandma almost fell off the couch in hysterics at the sight of me, but she let me wear my new hair around the house for the whole rest of the day.  Nothing could have made me happier.