hose 1. are any of various styles of men's clothing for the legs and lower body, worn from the Middle Ages through the 17th century, when the term fell out of use in favor of breeches and stockings. (See alsotrousers.) The old plural form of "hose" was hosen. The French equivalent was chausses.
hose 2. are sheer, close-fitting legwear, covering the wearer's body from the waist to the feet.
ho 3. (ho) n. pl. hos. Slang A prostitute.
I never wanted a job that asked a dress code of me. I spent twelve years in a Catholic school uniform where any expression of individuality was squelched (save for colorful socks and creative hair styles; see Bang Bang Perm Fringe) Even my extra-curricular activities required uniforms: field hockey, ballet class, and that one feeble attempt at a season of Track... So, these days, I love clothes. I, in fact, dress-up for a living, sometimes changing up to five costumes in the course of a two-hour play, each with its own set of undergarments and accessories. Outside of work, I am frequently accused of over-dressing for events. Yes, as far as I am concerned:
Life is a Party. Dress up for it.
The balance lies in the hours between 7:00 A.M. and noon when I am the opposite of over-dressed. Most days, I enjoy the luxury of staying in my night clothes until close to noon, and sometimes after. It's not that I'm not working; on the contrary, these are my most productive hours, but since they go unseen by outside eyes, I prefer the "relaxed" look.
Essentially: No Elastic.
One time, when I was 19, I went to interview for a summer job. I guess I was looking to break away from the jobs I'd had up to that point at delis and restaurants. My friend's mom knew someone who was looking for "a little help around the office." So, I called and went in. I had on jeans, a nice sweater, and my standard big hair. (See Bang Bang Perm Fringe.)
The woman that owned and ran the small business and who interviewed me was singularly unimpressed with my college studies in Theatre Arts and, well, ... me. But what I remember most was how she reamed me at the start of the meeting for wearing "denims" to an interview. Clearly I didn't know what I was doing... nor did I ever want to be doing whatever that was. I think her intention was to teach me a stern lesson that to be taken seriously one must dress accordingly, (she was in a suit-dress, hose, heels, and probably some classy delicate jewelry: Life is Funeral. Dress for it.) but even today, I am certain there were kinder, more effective ways to get the message across. I knew I was supposed to feel embarrassed, that maybe even an apology would have been appropriate, but her intention had a backfire effect, and the flame of embarrassment led rather to a brush fire of defiance.
I will never seek a job that requires me to wear panty hose and I pity you, wretched woman, who deems them so important. And, while we are on the topic, who conceived of panty hose anyway?
"Here, let's squeeze ourselves into something uncomfortable that makes our legs look just like-- Legs!"
"Gosh, better cover the skin of that shapely calf or some 16th Century Rake of a man might be tempted to bend low and lick it."
I left the above sentiments unsaid, but she probably read something of them in my stony eyes, unsmiling face, and curt answers.
I did not get a job offer.
I did not care.
She could stuff it up her nose with my "denims" right behind it.
Perhaps she found my casual dress insulting because her business meant so much to her and her apparel reflected her fierce endeavors. I get that. Likewise, I'll wear three layers of petticoats, tights, and a corset under a Renaissance dress with a high-necked lace collar in August for a job I care about, before I'd put on control-top panty-hose for some mean lady to do a job that offers me zero inspiration.
And, PS, no one calls them "denims" anymore.
The Wine Guy in Pickerington is a lovely spot to drink wine and especially to try a few small tastes; they have a least a half dozen flights to choose from. It's a beautiful interior with a friendly -and completely unpretentious- staff. I really love them. Haven't tried much of the food, but the small plates available at Happy Hour are a good bargain and tasty too.
201 Clint Dr # 1200 Pickerington, OH 43147
(614) 577-9463
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