I made it to the office, just barely. My pantyhose had miraculously stopped their southward migration just out of sight above the hem of my skirt. At least, I think they were just out of sight. I entered through the back door and hurried straight to the loo—in that tight-thigh pub-walk way you move when you’ve had three or four beers and you’re on your way to the ladies’ room and someone tells a funny joke. Then I sat down, took a deep breath, and seriously considered the situation. Should I remove the wayward stockings?
Australians never wear them. Maybe these pioneering women are just too practical. Or perhaps, as my experience suggests, the pantyhose themselves simply refuse to be worn in this upside-down country.
Oddly, most of the women at work are fair-skinned but have beautiful, bare, apparently naturally tan legs, which I assume must be rub-ons. I know they don’t sun bathe, because Aussies are acutely aware of the dangerous effects of too much sun. They are completely and genuinely convinced that there is a huge hole in the ozone layer directly over the Australian continent, which was caused solely by the irresponsible use of chlorofluorocarbons in the United States of America, the end result of which has been an alarming rate of skin cancer Down Under. This may be true, and I mean no disrespect to my Aussie friends, but I wish the fair-skinned descendants of northern European stock would consider the possibility that emigration from the London fog to a country that is 92 percent desert and 7 percent beaches might also have something to do with their skin cancer problems.
Back to my pantyhose dilemma: to wear them or not? At home it would be an easy decision. My legs would remain covered, my waist and abdomen bound. But this is not America, and American tastes, expectations, and norms are not relevant here. Australians are practical and straightforward. I must adjust my personal style, as well as my business decisions, to fit this new environment. Can I do it?
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