There are stringent rules of what you can and cannot wear if you have a meeting with the Queen. The toughest is no bare legs. Stockings/pantyhose or, in the UK, tights are a must. She doesn’t like bare legs, and deep in my heart, I don’t either. Of all the women I know who opt for the bare leg, only a handful genuinely look good.

Last week I had a funeral to attend, so I headed to Macy’s to pick up some pantyhose. The Boulder Macy’s is closing, and with everything 30% off, I thought I’d pick up a couple of pairs. As a former Girl Scout being prepared is my motto.

Not familiar with the store, and after walking around aimlessly, I ask a clerk,

“Where are your pantyhose?”

With a blank stare, “What?”

“Where do you have pantyhose?”

Another blank stare, but with funny faces this time, “What?”

“Pantyhose, stockings, Hanes, yes, I’m old; I still wear them.”

“Oh, see that wall over there; they should be on the other side.”

Once I arrive at the other side of the wall, there is only a handful in the largest sizes. Under my breath, I mumble, no wonder they are closing.

Outrunning errands Monday morning, Mom and I stop by Safeway. “Let’s see if they have some Legg’s here. Not my favorite brand, but they will do.” Again, most shelves are empty, except for the largest sizes.

Walgreen is in the same shopping center, so off to Walgreens we go. Ugh, again, empty shelves, except for, you guessed it, the largest sizes.

“Well, let’s go to Target, and hopefully, they will have something.”

“I think I might have a package in my drawers that has never been opened.”

“They are probably nude, and I want black. If Target doesn’t come to the rescue, hopefully, you do.”

As we pull into the parking lot of Target, I say, “Well, thank god I don’t have an appointment with the Queen tomorrow. She hates bare legs.” Mom laughed.

Luckily, Target came to the rescue. Even though ninety-five percent of their shelves were empty, they had one lone pair of size small black tights. As I grab them before anyone else runs in to get them, I say, “Fine, I don’t like tights, but at this point, I don’t care; they will work.”

As we leave Target, I say, “With all of the empty shelves we’ve seen, I wonder how many pairs of pantyhose are sitting off the coast of California; perhaps we should start making things here again,”

Mom chimed in with, “I agree.”

Dressed and ready for the funeral the next morning, I said to Mom, “I’m ready for meeting with the Queen.”