Formal banquet for more than a thousand people. Me in a long ivory gown. I realized as we were about to be seated at our table for eight that the elastic in my pantyhose had suddenly disappointed me and I was about to be grievously embarrassed.
I whispered to my husband that I had to leave for a moment and not to say anything. Luckily that one time he did listen to me and did not do one of those major calling-attention “What’s the matter? Where are you going?” things.
Grasping the top of the pantyhose through my dress and kind of hobbling to keep my knees together, I managed to make it to the next room, an anteroom through which serving people were coming and going (with many open doorways leading into the banquet hall) and which was empty just for the moment. I could feel the pantyhose waistband sliding down my hips, the wrinkles gathering at my ankles. There was no way I could get as far as the ladies’ room.
A waiter came through carrying a tray and asked me if I was looking for something. I couldn’t shoo him away. I kept saying I just needed to be there by myself for a moment, but he wouldn’t leave. I must have looked seriously distressed by the time I persuaded him that he couldn’t help me, I was fine, and just to leave me alone. Finally he went on with his task.
Quick as I could, I slipped off my shoes and let the offending garment drop the rest of the way to my ankles. I grabbed up the pantyhose and wadded them into a little ball hidden behind my evening bag and went back to my seat. I whispered to my husband that I was putting something into his jacket pocket and he was not to react and under no circumstances must he pull it out. Luckily he didn’t, even though he must have been curious.
I just kept reminding myself that all present were paying more attention to themselves than they were to me and that as long as I acted like nothing was the matter, they probably wouldn’t notice.