Nude Panty Hose, Encore

So, mere moments following my previous diatribe, revealing, unfortunately, entirely too much about my rather awkward adolescence and, in turn, some intriguing and telling details concerning my relationship with my mother, I stare down at the back of my thigh and spy a thick and disgracing run. After my romp through Rome, and my gloating triumph of acceptance of the glory of the nude panty hose, with its unique capabilities of smoothing my problematic thighs and hugging my curves in a flattering manner, I ruin them, peremptorily. Currently, I am staring at them, crumpled, at the foot of my sterile hotel bed, gazing forlorn, remembering the pleasant and wild times we shared together, only hours ago. Alas, destiny, this time, has proven cruel. Perhaps I will layer the nude panty hose with my typical opaque black tights, attempt to create some type of warm mottled neutral. If not, ashes to ashes, again, to the humble beginnings shall the nylons return.

(image taken from Eco Salons)