compression confession

I love cold months because I can start wearing my PANTYHOSE again!

I know it's weird. But when you grew up longing for the day you were given the go-ahead to buy a "Flicker" rotating blade shaver and given permission to shave from your ankle to your knee--the place where your "knee-highs" covered--then it becomes some shade of normal. Or at least as normal as "Suntan" colored hose look on every person that wears them.

When you're me and you wore compression stockings after your second and third pregnancies to help with the bulging varicose veins and throbbing legs that pained you day and night and discovered that even though you have to use a cocktail of baby powder, shoe horns, and super-heroine hand-strength to get them on, that they suck in skin and muscle and make lumps into curves and actually help keep you warm, you roll on the floor to tug those tight-knit screen-door like hose around the turn-on-a-dime curve of your ankle because it will be worth it all.

SO, when autumn rolls around and I'm pushing the cusp of boot-wearing season I dust off the handle to the drawer that holds the 3 pairs of compression hose I had to get a prescription from my doctor for, order online and paid an arm and two veiny-legs for. Because not only will I be able to gently glide into the pants that don't *really* fit, but I won't have to bend over, twist or do the little wigga-wigga-wiggle dance to pull up said pants before muscling the button and challenging the zipper to close. And there is no way on earth these babies will ever get a snag, runner, or rip in them. They are virtually inpenetrable. I think they might even be bulletproof.