I never mention names in my articles for good reason. Mostly it is to protect the privacy of my family, friends and acquaintances, but sometimes it is to be in a position where I can fully tell a story without fear of repercussion. This hasn’t always worked so I am a bit cautious as I tell you this tale. It is just too good not to share.
This story is true and so aptly describes what can only happen to women as we continue to age and try to hold on to some semblance of our youth. In this case it’s a bit more, or less, material than that. Pardon the pun.
Each summer my friend makes her way from Toronto to her home just outside of Thunder Bay. It is a beautiful spot, on the big lake, all the conveniences of home and near enough to the city for quick visits. In turn, we who do not have such a lovely spot on the lake take a bit of an advantage each summer and make our way for much merriment. Often there is wine involved. I use the word often loosely.
As part of her annual visit, she does a bit of cleaning, specifically the cupboards and closets, throwing out what is no longer usable, donating what is still acceptable and keeping what she just can’t part with. Thus, the pants. By the way they are white. I digress.
Long forgotten and happy to be reunited, she tried them on in the comfort of her own home to discern whether these should be directed to disposal or donation. Lo and behold, and with the help of some popular undergarments, she was able to slip into them with ease and walk around the bedroom in comfort.
So, she decided to wear them out to run her errands in town.
After a day of shopping on an unusually warm day and walking to and fro, tasks were checked off the list. Ultimately, she couldn’t help but notice a bit of discomfort in the waistband and continued as she wrote it off to the heat.
Once home, she changed in more comfortable, aka loose, clothing and noticed that the tightness of the garment had left her with a welt on her waist that was exceptionally sore but, as we do, thought it was nothing a bit of antibiotic cream couldn’t remedy.
Day one, two, three and things were getting worse. At this point it was difficult to wear anything with a waistband at all. After some informal consultation, she went into the emergency department and learned that what appeared to be an innocent scrape, was in fact an infection and that no amount of topical ointment was going to do the trick. She would have to have IV antibiotics and that would require a daily visit to the hospital for one whole week.
Now I know that many women are used to the discomfort of tighter clothes, and maybe a chaffing or two, but an infection? Ultimately, I saw her on day 5 and it appeared she was recovering. The pants, however, did not fare so well. This is one time they did travel, straight to the disposal bin.
The moral of the story? Ladies, no matter how many good memories we may have of certain pieces of clothing, or with the help of the latest technology items from yesteryear still kind of fit, it is not worth a visit to the ER. Never mind the inconvenience of traveling each day for your antibiotics, but how could she explain how this had occurred without dying from embarrassment, or in my case, peeling with laughter.
It is now a new season, and I am taking the time to go through my closet to rifle through and discard those items that have fit me in better days. Not to say that casual wear (with elastic waistbands) is the new fashion statement, but for me at least they may be safer.
Have a great fall everyone.
