Hosed
By Lorena Swift
Miraculously, not all women are blessed with the ability to accessorize. Some might assume that all women can choose color coordinates or select appropriate accessories. Understanding the fundamentals of dressing woman-like would prove arduous for a tomboy like me.
My story begins preparing for the company regalia in the summer of 2002. Driving towards the regalia, I felt overwhelmed with the probability of having to wear a formal dress! At 5’10”, attempting to wear high heels and a dress was terrifying. Never attending a company dinner in my life, and I assumed a magazine photo would provide me with the necessary “womanly” guidelines.
Pulling up to the hotel, I became startled; employees were carrying garment and travel bags. I pulled towards the end of the lot, hiding my “hefty-bag” garment carrier. After checking in to the Hilton, I gleaned my glamour magazine for an appropriate guide to accessorizing. I became horrified when all the ladies were wearing dark stockings.
I needed a plan! I ran through the lobby, jetting out towards the grocery across the boulevard. They had a large selection of hose! I grabbed the Legg’s brand egg and headed back for my transformation to a formal woman. Consulting the magazine, I followed the instructions carefully. The article suggested putting on the hose first, and then dressing at the last moment, avoiding wrinkles. I pondered the slogan, “One size fits all.” Oddly, a small pigmy would have trouble pulling these hose over their hips. The instructions stated, “Roll up each leg and slide over the foot.” I scrunched up the hose, pulling eagerly. I felt a sense of excitement as I entertained the possibility of being “frilly.” That was pre-empted by the run in my hose. My fingernails carved up the hose. “Oh Lord,” I gasped, as the pantyhose stopped abruptly. I stood in the mirror; attempting to overcome this apparatus, I was attempting to pull up. The magazine showed slender; size five models with long legs. I was determined to overcome this obstacle, as the company dinner was a grand affair. With a wiggle and reversal of physics, I managed to pull the hose over my hips. Looking in the mirror, I was faced with what is known in the woman’s world as the “Pigs in a blanket” manifestation. Walking towards the bathroom to retrieve my dress, I was reminded of Steve Martin in the “Jerk.” I looked as if I was having a seizure as the hose twisted, constricting my movements. I had to devise a plan! I put on my dress and it appeared to adequately cover my “compressed” thighs. I strapped on my heels and stood erect. I was easily over six foot and felt like a “linebacker.” I practiced my stride across the room in short, controlled movements. My hose felt tighter as I attempted some control in my walk. Finally, I estimated the ballroom entrance was about fifty feet from the elevators. My goal, walk to my table using slow but elegant strides. As I entered the elevator, I felt a “rope-like” burning down one leg. I looked down and my hose had unraveled. “Just get to the table,” I thought as the elevator opened. There they stood, the boss with all the war council members. I exited the elevator and recited the “slow-glide” instructions from the magazine. “Step forward, using elegance and controlled movements.” My hose began the horrifying act of unraveling completely! As I “glided” across the floor, my movements became erratic! I stumbled in front the mirrored doors picturing Steve Martin. In his movie “The Jerk,” he ran like the village idiot through a parking lot elated his name was published in a simple phone book. I began to lose my balance as I attempted tighten my legs. Frantically, my hips began to gyrate. My boss watched in amazement as I seized and contorted myself into the elevators. By now, my hose had imploded and shreds of nylon trailed down the hall. “Control top pantyhose my eye,” I yelled as I fumbled for my key. Employees gawked as I anxiously opened the door. Entering the room, my hose burst and the nightmare was over. Tears strolled down my face as I peeled off the remainder of hose. I lay back on the bed wondering what to tell my colleagues. I envisioned Steve Martin imitations carrying on at the open bar. As I pulled off my dress, my eyes diverted to the magazine. In bold text, the message could not have been clearer: Beauty takes practice! I thought back to Charles Hill’s article on The Psychology of Rhetorical Images. His readings reminded me of “my” physical presence and how I filled the audiences “field of consciousness” (Hill 29). According to Hill, the goal of any rhetor is to give enough presence to “crowd out” any other influences (Hill 29). Well, I certainly gave enough physical presence to forever influence my audience that night. A lesson learned, and I will always remember that beauty and presence takes practice.
Packing up my “frilly” dress, I flash backed to the evening’s events. I had never attempted or practiced wearing formal clothing or hose. I had learned a very important lesson that night: Practice makes perfect! Driving home, I laughed as I thought of Steve Martin running across the parking lot. As I neared home, I pulled into the video store and rented the movie, “The Jerk.” I thought of my colleagues, my performance, and my hose malfunction. Laughing, I walked out, movie in hand, having persevered over tragedy.
The question how "Amplification through simplification" is interesting. If I simplify my story will anyone grasp the meaning? I will assume the next blog will require me to shorten, comically reduce my actions, and still get the moral of the story across. I am thinking how to shorten my story without losing the character and flow.It will be perplexing!
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"The Psychology of Rhetorical Images." Defining Visual Rhetorics. Ed. Charles A. Hill and Marguerite Helmers. London: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, 2004. 25-40.
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