Truancy and unseemly behaviour.

Did you know that dabbing a little clear nail polish onto runs in pantyhose can stop those runs from spreading further?

How do I know this? Because developed a run in my pantyhose last night. Why was I wearing pantyhose last night? Because it was part of my costume. What costume was this? Why a sexy schoolgirl costume of course. Why was I dressed as a sexy schoolgirl? Because the party had a school theme, obviously. What else was I supposed to wear?

Real talk though, dressing in female clothing is fun as fuck. Failing anything it’s a chance to experience how another gender dresses. Before last night I knew that runs in hose were a thing that happened. I’d heard female friends complain about them before, but never paid them any mind. Oh, they happen alright and it’s alarming how quickly one little hole expands. Before I’d even left the house, nay, before I’d even left the room where I put them on I already had a run. The tightly woven fabric snagged a little splinter off my wooden floor and the process had begun. Given that I was walking around without shoes the whole night, I could see this virulent gap growing next to the pad of my foot. I was worried that by the end of the evening my toes would be exposed to the harsh air, unprotected by this thin mesh. That’s something quite nice actually. The feeling of the wind on hosed legs is pretty pleasant, something I’d never know if I hadn’t garbed them in sexy thigh-highs.

I mean, there was more to the costume than just pantyhose. On the event page I inquired if anyone had a skirt big enough to fit me. A friend chimed in with not only a skirt, but a whole costume: Thigh-highs, a garter belt, two choices of skirt and a tie. All I needed was a white shirt. I couldn’t remember if I owned a white shirt other than my good white shirt and I certainly didn’t want that one getting ruined. Especially after the whole debacle with that fucking shirt in the first place. I went to the local derelict mall that’s on loan from the 80s and bought one. Now, the only cheap (sub $5) shirt I could find was a women’s M. On my frame it was impossible to close the top three buttons. Suitable, I thought, given I was looking to up the sexiness quotient anyway. I purchased the shirt assuming that at worst I could always flex, hulk out and tear the shirt for kicks.

My friend and girlfriend helped me dress as we cycled through options. The shirt was certainly tight, but also restrictive enough that reaching above my head was not really an option. Like, what if I had to catch a high flying frisbee or something? We used another shirt I owned that I’d never much liked and tied a neat little bow for some scandalous midriff. I was showed how to bunch up pantyhose before stepping into them. They fit smoothly and the mini rubber tops stopped them from slipping. The first skirt was perhaps the length of my middle finger, so I got the smallest undies I could find in hopes that they’d be short enough not to show. Just, as it turns out. My friend clipped the garter in and I had a peek. My bum was framed pretty nicely, which had my girlfriend drooling a little. Perv. We ended up swapping the skirt for one with a little more length. You know, since the slightest provocation would have me poking out the front. I was the only one who didn’t know how to properly tie a tie, so the gals sorted that out. Looking pretty sassy, I grabbed my school bag and we headed out the door.

The party was a blast and it was fantastic dressing up. The big lesson I learned came as we were walking up the road to the party. I had something in my shoe, so I lifted up my foot, pulled off the shoe and shook it out, only to hear the gals cracking up. I’d just unintentionally flashed the whole neighbourhood. How unbecoming.

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