I Texted Him I Had the Flu. I Didn't Have the Flu. Here's What Got Me to the Second Date.

November 6th, 6:12 PM. I canceled on a man I really liked because I couldn't face my legs in that black dress. I'd believed that saleswoman for years.

My sister Lucia drove up from Las Cruces with a pair of tights in her overnight bag and turned the waistband inside out on my kitchen table.

From a few steps away they read as fine sheer tights on smooth skin. Turn the waistband out and there's a thick, ultra-soft fleece lining in your own skin tone: Vanilla, Latte, Caramel or Espresso.

That's the whole trick. The light goes through the sheer layer and lands on even fleece instead of on every little vein and patch. It was never your legs. It was the light.

Restaurant lights, bathroom mirrors, the family photo. A compression waistband smooths, one single seam down the back means no saggy crotch, and they hug the ankle so nothing bunches above your boots.

Same restaurant, three months later. I didn't think about my legs once.

Toasty outside, never overheating once you're indoors. And the fabric is reinforced: they stretch, they don't run, and one pair doesn't end up in the trash after one evening like my old sheer ones.

No more choosing between the dress you love and being warm.

Pick one pair for dinners, one for every day, and the third is on us. Or share a pair with your sister, your daughter, your best friend.

You get 30 days to try them at home, and if the shade or size isn't right, they send you the right one for free. Check which shades are still in stock before you pick yours.