I was walking toward a female acquaintance/friend in recent weeks, meeting her to take a photo to run with a story I was writing.

I was wearing a casual dress that day, mainly because I was weary of wearing pants and had opted instead for a figure-forgiving alternative in these post-pandemic-pound-altering times in which we live.

(In which I live, anyway.) It’s tough to shut off that food-fest mode I’ve been in (and enjoyed) this past coronavirus calendar year.

I felt I was overdue for a wardrobe change, a switch, even if wearing a dress meant wearing a pair of pantyhose. Such a decision guarantees going on a wild goose-chase, maddening-morning search for a pair of nylons minus any serious snags and runaway runners.

Good luck with that pantyhose pursuit, I always cheer myself on.

She greeted me with gusto as I approached her, because that’s the sort of gal she is — always upbeat, efficient, great to work with and super duper pleasant. She told me she liked the outfit, that it was cute and summery looking, blah, blah, blah and other such pleasantries.

Then she squinted a bit, glancing toward the ground. At my feet.

Uh-oh, I thought. I was wearing open-toed shoes and wondered to myself if my toenail polish job was as bad as I had remembered it to be.

Or had I neglected to wear shoes that actually matched?

On some sandal days, I have been guilty of that, having started out with two different shoes on, my explanation being, hey, I couldn’t make up my mind. They both matched my outfit.

Or was I maybe actually wearing fabulous footwear for a change and she was pea green with envy?

No, no and no. Not the case.

“Do you have hose on?” this acquaintance/friend asked me ever so innocently yet with incredulous observation.

The question caught me off guard a bit, then secretly made me laugh to myself because the way she asked, it was as if hose were some archaic accessory that a woman’s wardrobe of yesteryear would never be without.

But in these modern times of naked legs with dresses and skirts, who needs hose?

I confessed I was wearing hose (my Casper-the-ghost white legs demand it) and I confirmed that, no, they’re not hot or uncomfortable. They’re like socks, there’s just more of them.

And I wouldn’t be caught dead not wearing hose if I were wearing a dress or a skirt, unless, of course, the hemline ended at the ankle.

I’m still an old-school holdout to wearing hose and finding the “suntan” color, not beige or taupe. Suntan.

But I have noticed that teens and women often don’t wear hose, and I think, what’s up with that?

I don’t know that I could ever be that leg liberated but I secretly admire them for their boldness.

Not wearing hose means not having to buy them and figuring out what’s the right size to get. Some of those height-and-weight chart guidelines on the package are convicting.

Ever lie to yourself about your weight when it’s just you making the hose purchase?

It might be easier to shop for some figure-forgiving, extra long skirts.