Momnesia

Why Not? My Legs Are Cold...

Alice walks into the office in a new outfit. I almost fall out of my chair. Oh, no, she didn't.
"What?" she asks, as I scowl. I look pointedly at her legs.
"These are not leggings!"

Weeks ago, we were discussing the unbearable cuteness of Erin's being. She rocked the colored tights I used to wear in high school at the Metro's Best party. Well, not my old tights. Those are long gone. But today she was wearing some cute leggings under an equally cute skirt. "God, I love leggings," Amy said. "Me, too," I laugh. "Why did they ever go out of style?" "Erin can wear anything," Alice said.

"They are too, leggings!" I insist to Alice, the fashion criminal. They're black, skintight, and they hit her just above the ankle. She's sporting a pair of ballet flats with them.
"No, they're not. They're footless tights."
I look to Amy for help. She's on the phone.
"They look like leggings to me," I say, doubtfully.
"Well, the package said they're footless tights. They're not pants," she insists.
"Pants? Leggings aren't pants."
"Yeahuhuh!"

My high school said that leggings weren't pants. They sent me home one day for wearing a dress that was too short, one inch above my knee, over a pair of leggings. They said it was too distracting. The dress also had long sleeves and a mock turtleneck, but that didn't matter to them. To the administration of Rockdale County High School, I was a walking sex machine. Well, obviously.

"No, they're not pants," I say. "That's why you put them with long shirts or dresses or skirts."
"Well, these still aren't leggings."
"What are y'all talking about?" Amy says, done with her phone call. How anyone can hear a damn call in this office is beyond me anyway. We practically sit in each others' laps.
"Alice is wearing leggings!" I crow.
Amy comes over to look.
"They look cute!"
Cute is not the point, you traitor.

"I don't think I could pull off leggings," I said. "Why not?" Amy asked. "Because! It's not 1987 anymore!" Alice laughed: "Well, they say that if you wore something trendy the first time around, that you shouldn't wear it again." "Yeah..." Amy sighed. We watch Erin with a loving urge to slap her. She's in her early twenties. We're all closer to 40. Some of us closer than others... I don't know who thought it was a great idea to implement a chilly, inexplicable gap between mid-calf and ankle. But it was a stroke of garmeting genius, as far as I'm concerned.

"They are cute. Alice could wear a Walmart bag and look great. But that is not the point. We made a pact."
Alice and Amy laugh - hard.
"I'm serious! How are we supposed to demand reasonable clothes if they keep recycling old trends and not letting us wear them?"

"I guess we shouldn't buy any," I moan. "I want some," Alice said. "Me, too," Amy said. "Me, too." (sigh) "They look cute with flats." I offer. "They did 20 years ago, too," Alice jabs. Ouch. "So, no leggings." "No leggings." "No." (sigh)

"I think they look cute," Amy says.
"Well of course they look cute. They're on Alice," I acquiesce. "But they're still leggings."
"Hey, it's not like I wore them with a miniskirt," Alice reasons. "Or ankle boots."
I nod. "Well, at least now I can buy some."
That makes them laugh harder.
So I soothe myself by imagining that Alice was wearing a giant T-shirt that said "WHAM" over her leg-coverings-of-indeterminate-definition... with stirrups on them.
But even in the nightmare outfit in my head, she still looks good.