Lace Tights and (Jel)astic
The itchy woes of a small child living in the Northeastern US in the 90s
When I was a child, it actually snowed during the Holidays, sometimes as early as Thanksgiving. Every year, despite living just above the poverty line, my mom was insistent that I have a new dress for Christmas. You see Christmas was a big deal because I grew up in a devout Roman Catholic family, and Midnight Mass was the mass of all masses. I also went to Catholic school from pre-school until 8th grade, and every year we had a Christmas pageant which also required a holiday look of sorts.
As a child I hated anything constricting. I find this odd now as I took ballet lessons for ten years and was constantly in tights and leotards. Those were the soft kind though, as comfortable as you could feel while being tightly encased in a fabric.
Could I have worn those ballet tights for midnight mass and called it a night? Sure. But no, my mom was set on me wearing not just any tights, they needed to be special. After all, Baby Jesus needed some glam vibes in his life. Truth be told I am now jealous at his muslin swaddle while I almost celebrated his birthday with a rash from my LACE TIGHTS.
Yes, lace tights. WHITE lace tights. As if my ‘Eastern European in the winter’ legs needed to be any more white. I remember my mom helping me put them on, something she did less as help but more as making sure my legs actually went in the tights. She would scrunch them up until the foot was ready for me. In goes my foot and immediately I say, “Mom these are so itchy!” My mom had zero poker- face abilities and she immediately looked frustrated with me. “Do I have to wear these?” Of course it was freezing so her answer was yes, that and no good Catholic girl would dare to show up to Midnight Mass with bare legs.
Because they weren’t my typical ballet tights, the sizing was also weird. So on top of the rash slowly developing on my legs, I was also constricted like a sausage and not comfortable at all. “Mom these are way too tight!” I continued to whine and complain until my mom hit her breaking point (hers was lightyears away from most parents, bless her) and she told me to take them off.
She then proceeded to hold the tights, left hand stretching the feet and right hand stretching the waist. She pulled them like they were some sort of Stretch Armstrong toy (if you don’t remember, Google it) until finally they ripped right in half. I was ELATED! I won!!! Looking back, I do feel bad because we didn’t really have money to waste those days and my mom was probably more upset about that than anything.
So ballet tights for Midnight Mass it was, and my mom never bought me fashion-forward tights again.
Do you remember one-piece pajamas? The ones with feet? Thinking about them now makes me start to sweat but they were a necessity during the cold winters. I absolutely hated the zipper against my body but what I really hated the most was the elastic around my ankles. Or, as I called it, JELASTIC.
I suppose the purpose of the elastic was to keep your feet down in the feet area but with me zipped into it, I am not sure where else they were going to go…
Naturally, I would whine and complain about the dreaded jelastic until my mom cut it out with scissors.
Looking back, I am shocked how many parents put their kids into what were essentially flammable bags. What was the selling point? Cute prints? Less laundry? Warmth? It remains a mystery to me.
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