Only two days into 2011 and I almost didn't make it. I almost went down in flames - and I'm not talking figuratively, here, either - earlier this afternoon.
It all started when I decided to make a quick run to the grocery store. While I was really quite content to stay all cozy on the couch in my comfy clothes, tucked under a blanket with the copy of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo that I'd been waiting months and months for on the hold list at the library, but it seemed that no matter how powerful my lounging magic was, it wasn't powerful enough to conjure up a bag of tortilla chips, and tortilla chips, in case you didn't know, are a key ingredient to Sunday Night Nachos. I'm fairly certain that had I attempted to make our Sunday Night Nachos out of the other snack food we had on hand - to wit, organic Cheez Doodles or sourdough pretzel nuggets - things wouldn't have gone well. So, despite the almost irresistible draw of stay here and read a while longer that was being exerted upon me by the general conditions of the couch in the family room, I dragged myself away from the world of sloth and out into the snow to get some more Tostitos.
Just because I was going out in public didn't mean I'd have to, you know, get dressed for it or anything though, I reasoned to myself. I mean, I did have a bra on (first time in '11 - woot) and was fully clothed, but I saw no reason to put on a pair of jeans when I was so cozily clad in a pair of these:
(Those, by the way, are not my legs, feet or abdomen. Have I mentioned Sunday Night Nachos? I don't think the model above has ever eaten Any Night Nachos. Nor would I pair microfleece pants with bare feet in kicky ballet flats. I don't own kicky ballet flats. Kicky ballet flats make Heather's Hobbity Hooves look particularly ginormous.)
Anyhow, I threw on a fleece jacket, some wool socks and clogs and off I went. I pulled on a pair of fleece gloves in the car because DANG it is cold again here in western NY. What I'm trying to say here is, I was Primed for Major Static Happenings, had I paused to think about it for just a second.
This wasn't my first time wearing these delightfully comfy, microfleece yoga pants out in public, by the way. Nope, I wore them all the way back from NJ to NY last weekend. They've traveled, is what I'm saying. Traveled with nary a hint of the horror that was to come my way as I trudged through the parking lot and into the store.
I noticed it first as I was briskly striding towards the entrance. My pant legs felt a bit... snug. I reached down and shook them out and kept going. After all, one of the best features to a pair of yoga pants is their roominess. Their embodiment of the exact antonymy of skintight.
By the time I'd gotten a cart and gone into the store proper, I realized that this was not just a momentary trouble. My legs were wrapped in what appeared to be microfleece leggings, not yoga pants. By the time I'd worked my way through the produce aisle and over to chips, my lower half was snap, crackle and popping as though my skin were made of Rice Krispies. Egads. I caught another shopper's gaze traveling up and down me as she approached me near the crackers. I was almost afraid to look down at myself, so I met her gaze with a jaunty "and???" look in response and kept on going. Once safely past her Judgy McJudgerson glare, I risked a glance downward. What had been comfy, microfleece yoga pants when I put them on at home were now Stage Five Clingers of highwater proportions. I'm talking microfleece capris here, y'all. It was not flattering. (I'm not sure if I was drawing more ireful looks for the noise of the static electricity or the sight of my shrinkwrapped-in-microfleece legs and rear. I'm pretty sure I was generating enough sparks to have a halo-effect of glow around me, though.)
There wasn't much I could do, besides shoplift a can of Static Guard from the shelves and make a break for the bathroom, but I was a bit worried that if I moved any more quickly, I'd actually burst into flames. By this point, my hands were getting shocked every time I moved them the slightest bit on the cart handle. I sounded as though I was hiding a popcorn popper in my undies. I quite probably could've powered my neighborhood, if not the whole town, with the amount of electricity I was generating with each and every step.
Finally, I made it to the checkout, through the checkout and back outside. Hoping that the falling snow would dampen the static, I walked as slowly as I dared back to the car. I stopped a few times to tug the bottoms of my pantlegs down somewhere closer to my ankles (in retrospect, not having shaved probably didn't help matters - the stubble on my legs was standing straight up and likely contributing to the statickyness of it all). I was so relieved to finally reach the safety of my vehicle where I could zap myself home in peace.
Can you imagine the headlines? Stay at home mom dies in New Year's yoga pants conflagration.... Needless to say, I'm not wearing those pants, comfy as they may be, out in public again unless I douse them liberally with Static Guard first.
And how was your opening weekend of 2011? Equally exciting but less combustible, I hope!