In high school, I knew this girl who always looked very chic. She had this one particular outfit that was like this... black stretchy catsuit... thing. She wore a sash over her hips and ballet slippers. It looked very French. I always was impressed by how slim she looked in this outfit. I was born with a poochy belly, you see, and no number of sit-ups ever made a dent in it. This girl confessed that her catsuit thing was, in fact, concealing an assortment of supportive undergarments. She had control-top pantyhose, a girdle, and possibly a waist cincher. She was actually the bearer of a pooch and cellulite. She said one of her big fears was that she'd get into a car accident and the EMTs would end up exposing all her infrastructure. You'd think she would be more worried about injury, but we were 17. We had different priorities then.
Anyway, I thought of this today as I started the second picot hem of my Vandyke socks. Somehow, even though I was doubly careful with this hem, I ended up with many more difficulties than with the first. I tried to fix the mistakes as best I could, because the thought of starting over was too much to bear. The outside of the hem looks pretty good, but the inside of the hem--like the inside of Catsuit Girl's outfit--is full of structural secrets and flaws. The inside of this hem is all cellulite, but you have to look really really closely to tell.
If anyone that close to my ankles while I'm wearing these socks, I'm going to kick them.