After 76 years of living with it, I have decided that my right leg has a mind of its own.
Whenever I put on a pair of pants, my left leg goes into the left leg hole with no difficulty, but when I try to put my right leg into the right hole, something happens — it doesn’t come close.
Sometimes my foot aims for the leg hole and it ends up cross-wise, rendering any further advance into the leg hole impossible. There I stand on one leg. I also have a problem with vertigo, which comes on real fast when I am standing one-legged.
I am very vulnerable to falling down in this position and must stabilize myself as fast as possible by hanging onto something.
Sometimes I can stabilize by just touching something — in essence, reassuring myself that there is something nearby that I will be able to hang onto. (Usually I do.)
Besides going cross-wise to the leg hole of my pants, I also experience another problem. Without warning, if I do get my right foot in the leg hole and have proceeded to get most of my leg into the pants, my foot will go at a right angle instead of maintaining a pointed-foot orientation. It is worse if I have a shoe on.
There I sit, with a foot encased in a shoe, with it stuck down in my pants. I am unable to go forward or back. I wait and try again a few minutes later to see if my situation has changed. (Maybe my foot shrunk?) No hope. I yell out loud “DIANE.” Help comes running to my side and I hear the familiar words, “What have you done now?”
After struggling for a few minutes, Diane gets things organized and I end up with my pants on the right legs. I turn to my right leg and say, “I hope you are happy now.”