How do women do it?
I don’t understand how women do it. I’m talking about wearing dresses.Friday night my darling wife and I ventured out to the inaugural Coroner’s Ball, which was a smashing success, by the way. Lots and lots of folks in all sorts of costumes having a very good time. Kudos to Coroner Joanne Richardson and all the people who made the event a success. As we used to say down South, “A good time was hard by all.”For the ball I went dressed as King Henry the Eighth – the one who eventually had six wives in an effort to produce male heirs – and Becky came as Henry’s first wife, Catherine of Aragon.For those keeping track the six wives were divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded and survived.Now here’s the deal about dresses, while I wasn’t impersonating a female, nonetheless, the lower half of my costume was for all intents and purposes a dress, or actually a skirt. Under that was a pair of tights, some grippers – the tights tended to make my usual boxers ride up into places they don’t need to ride up into, hence the grippers – and not much else.
It really was a terrific costume, which I should point out my multitalented wife sewed. Got lots of comments and even a couple of bows and curtsies from loyal subjects.It was terrific except that, in essence, I was wearing a dress. It’s not that I’m out of touch with my feminine side, thank you very much. No, it had to do with the temperature Friday night being on the low side of freezing and the cold wind having far greater access to my, eh, assets, than that to which I’m accustomed.I bet the guy who came to the ball as Marilyn Monroe – a little electrolysis on the chest hair would have been a good idea – knows exactly what I’m talking about.Standing in line for a drink, I could tell every time someone opened the door to walk outside for a smoke. My theory on why Henry the Eighth didn’t produce a male heir and only three children is his tools were frozen.At least at this dress up ball I knew how to sit.The first time I wore this costume was at a Halloween party a couple of years ago. I was sitting on a couch with a couple of friends. The party was in full swing when a woman approached from across the room.She looked down at me.
“You don’t wear dresses very often do you?” she said.”Well, no I don’t,” I replied.”I thought so,” she said.”Why do you ask?” I wanted to know.She smiled and said, “Well, let me put it this way, for anyone sitting on the other side of the room you have no secrets.”For a moment I wasn’t sure what she meant.
Then I very quickly crossed my legs.Going to the bathroom in this costume was a whole other adventure, the details of which I don’t plan to share, but I will add that using the urinal was out of the question. You want to know my definition of women’s liberation? Getting out of a pair of control-top panty hose.I really don’t know how women do it. The only thing I’ve got to add is thank God I didn’t have to wear heels.Publisher Jim Morgan writes a Tuesday column. He can be reached at (970) 668-3998, ext. 240, or email@example.com.
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