H&M. The label rather gives their history away, these worn-out black knit tights lying in the gigantic pile of mending on what used to be a place to sit. Some people build mountains out of molehills; I build them out of clothes that need to be fixed. Much like my mother does with items that need to be ironed.
I like H&M, too, but not as much as Munchkinhead. Or, at least, I don’t shop there quite as much as she does. And a pair of knit tights from there is most certainly in my possession as the result of a wonderful Christmas present from her. I wonder what the label said. Probably something about “to: long legs, from: short legs” or some such silliness.
The tights have been through a lot. A present when I lived in Cali, in the Yay, where one needs to wear woolly knit tights nearly year-round. Then put to good use again in Wisconsin’s bitter cold winter, likely serving as a layer of warmth buried beneath slips, long thick skirts, fuzzy socks and sturdy boots. It’s no wonder the tights no longer provide any coverage for toes or that it is easier to see through the heels than through Betty’s rear window.
I’d given them to Munchkinhead to darn. She’s quite good at darning. “These cannot be darned,” she informed me. It seems they were already damned; one cannot darn nothingness. So she sent them back, via Mommy, to sit on Mount Sewme until I decided what to do with them.
Munchkinhead helped. With the decision, that is, indirectly, sending a smattering of additional torn-up legwear after cleaning out the large filing cabinet in her living room. Within the new stash, old hold-up stockings with their own holes and runs and perfectly intact whatever-you-call-the-garter-replacing-sticky-bands-at-the-top. A seam ripper, a scissors, and a sewing machine later, I have new black woolly knit hold-up stockings.
If I have to shorten them again in the future, Munchkinhead will have new hold-ups.