I Hate Control Top Panty Hose

In theory, I wanted to go to the Kristallnacht commemoration ceremony tonight. But why schedule it on a Sunday night? It wasn't the actual seventieth anniversary of the Night of Broken Glass tonight, and who wants to leave the comfort of home on the coattails of the weekend? My friend MJ asked me weeks ago to go with her, and I planned to, looking forward to sharing this experience with her. But I was in one those moods this afternoon when you know you should do something but you really don't feel like it. I wanted to see it, but I didn't want to get off the couch. I tried to think of a good excuse to bow out when MJ called to bail on me for reasons beyond her control. Baby sitter failure. She was truly remorseful, and I made the decision to go by myself, way out of my comfort zone, whatever that is.

I dressed in a somber yet tasteful black sweater and black lace skirt. I put on control top panty hose. I flat ironed my curly hair, and I don't even iron my clothes. I kissed my girls and husband good bye and drove to the technical college where the event was held. I don't get out much at night, I don't go to that part of town ever, and I got lost. Which is exactly why I don't leave my comfort zone. Despite my detour, I still made it there twenty minutes early. And even more surprisingly, I found convenient parking, walking toward the auditorium while a stream of people walked past me back to the parking lot.

I called MJ. "Okay, I am here. I got lost but I figured it out." "How did you get lost?" Don't ask me that, I felt stupid enough at it was. "I don't drive anywhere at night! But I made it, and it looks like I missed it, because everyone is leaving." "What do you mean everyone is leaving? Maybe it's more of a drop in and walk through than a sit down." She read me the email again, and it didn't sound like a drop in to me. I hung up and continued walking. A heavy-set woman stopped me before I reached the door and told me it was overcrowded, that they weren't letting anyone else in. She waved a paper at me, and I decided, like the rest of the lambs heading inside, to have someone more official tell me the same thing. An usher stationed at the entrance was happy to do it, intercepting me right at the glass door to let me know that no seats or standing room was left, and the fire marshal said no more people could be admitted. He handed me a paper, a cursory apology from the event committee about rescheduling, overwhelming response, alerting the media, blah blah blah.

I got dressed. I left my house. I drove at night alone, got lost, reoriented myself, and drove to the right place. I found parking. I walked, in heels, from bumfuck lot W to the auditorium. Did I mention I was wearing control top panty hose?? And I couldn't attend the ceremony for the Night of Broken Glass?!? I'll show you a night of broken glass, mother fuckers!

Okay, I didn't. I walked back to my car. I called MJ again to tell her the evening was a bust. She put her usual positive spin on it, commenting about how impressive the turnout was and what a show of community support. I answered, "Jesus Christ, couldn't they even have special seating for the Chosen People? I think the least they could have done is let the Jews in." Seriously, it's not like we have that many in town.

So I didn't commemorate the seventieth anniversary of Kristallnacht tonight. Instead, I went grocery shopping. I got dressed up, with flat ironed hair and motherfucking control top panty hose and drove over 40 minutes round trip go the grocery store that is a mile away from my house. But I guess in a small way I did recognize the Night of Broken Glass. While I walked the aisles pushing my cart, I saw a little girl accidentally knock over two bottles of wine, and they smashed all over the floor. Her mother gave her a very stern look that didn't bode well for when she got home. Does that count?