All I Need Is A Lobotomy...

I spent the afternoon power shopping with Daughter-Only and Second Niece, who were looking for dresses for their work Christmas party, which, naturally, was tonight. We were very pressed for time--having left the house at 11 to get to a mall a little over an hour from home and ideally hoping to be back home by 3:30 or so, dresses in hand. That in itself was probably a fool's errand, but the fact that the only (semi-)rational adult on hand (me) is, even at this mature age, still pretty much the tomboy she's always been didn't help things much.

Both girls had picked their dresses and we were poring over leggings, stockings, and tights when Second Niece looked across the top of the rack at me and said, "How are tights sized? Are they the same sizes as pants?"

Tights? I haven't worn tights since kindergarten. They're not part of my required uniform.

"Uh...I really have no idea. You'd probably get the same quality of information grabbing any random guy walking by and asking him."

Luckily, we spotted the sizing chart on the back of the package. We were a little late getting back, but at least the tights fit.