Hole-y heck: How'd I get myself so tangled up in a train bathroom?

Posted Feb 16, 2012 By Sarah Crosbie

EMC Lifestyle - For the five years I was a student at Queen's University, the VIA train ride home to my parents' house was a little bit of bliss. It was a two-hour trip that was my time: No boyfriend, no roommates, no parents. It was my time to read People magazine and all the other gossip rags. I'd buy myself a mini can of Pringles and Diet Coke and just sit.

I took the train the other day, but there wasn't time to relax with People.

My five-year-old son decided instead of driving to see grandma and grandpa, he wanted to take the train. So we did.

It was a smooth trip compared to one I had a few years ago when I had to get to Montreal for a big meeting with television producers.

I had done it up and dressed as funky as I could: I had on black capri pants with fishnet stockings underneath so that you could see the tights from my knees down. On top, I'd put on a little black shirt with a funky faux-leather green jacket that had ornate gold buttons on the cuffs, three up each wrist.

I felt great. I felt like I was going to strut into that meeting and blow their socks off.

On the ride up to Montreal, I had my Diet Coke and my chips. Half an hour before we were scheduled to pull into the station, I headed for the bathroom to do all the necessary girly things and retouch my makeup.

As I was standing up from the toilet - sorry TMI - one of the gold buttons on my right arm got hooked into my fishnet stocking. My forearm was literally attached to my leg.

Huh. Sorta funny.

As I moved my left hand over to my right side to de-tangled myself, a button on my left arm got caught on my left leg.

Huh. Not so funny.

Though my tights were up, my capri pants were around my ankles and, in this teeny tiny bathroom, there wasn't much wriggle room.

My arms were literally snagged on my legs and, so, there I sat trying to use my index fingers to pop the buttons out of the fishnets.

I didn't know if I should laugh or cry.

The clock was ticking. Soon, we'd be pulling into Montreal.

I squirmed. I tried to shake my jacket off. I tried to wriggle the buttons out of the tiny stocking holes.

Nope, I was stuck.

So, I did the only thing possible. I violently yanked my arms up and ripped my arms off my legs - tearing massive holes in my fancy tights.

I pulled my pants up and sighed with relief: my pants covered the huge holes on my thighs.

I still felt good. I still felt like I was going to strut into that meeting and blow their socks off - and why not? I'd already basically blown my own stockings off.

I got the gig.

And I celebrated on the train ride back home the way only such a classy lady could: Mini Pringles and a Diet Coke.

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Sarah Crosbie's worst train trip ever? A day-long ride with her parents to the Agawa Canyon in Sault Ste. Marie when she was 14 years old. There were no chips. Just Three Bean Salad.