Imagine the woman who can fold herself into a suitcase. Lithe, long of limb, lissom, luxurious hair, lovely large eyes. You know the type. 
Every day when I get dressed I have this vision before me.  I  grunt as I try to regain my balance as I put on my underwear. I groan as I fumble with the hooks of my whatnot. (That’s what the nuns called our brassieres in those days.  Oh how I longed to wear one when I was twelve. What wouldn’t I give not to now!)
And then it’s the tights. (I’m not one for the nude leg- though there’s a lot to be said for the fashion!) 
I used to be able to put them on standing up. One foot in and then the other. Voila! Not so these days. Unfortunately I am not the agile figure of my dreams or even my youth. I was never very bendy. But I managed! 
Now I have to find somewhere to sit that’s the right height for one leg. I contort myself knee to chin and manoeuvre my toes in. Success. But then I have to put in the other foot while retaining a hold on the other leg. I hop onto a different height seat and twist my body to aim the other  foot into the other half of the tights. This is a hit and miss affair. Sometimes I have to have several goes – several rejuvenating sips of coffee in between, not to mention a go at the Wordle with one leg encased in thick stocking and the other dangling in a most ungainly way. 
Eventually I get there. Like a child,  I jump to pull the whole construction up and the rest is plain sailing. 
I absolutely hate getting dressed – part of the problem is I get bored half way. So I always have to leave a lot of time for this procedure. With planned distractions. 

I know. I know I should do Yoga and Pilates etc etc. Maybe one day I will. 
Meanwhile I’ll never fit into a suitcase, no matter how big!