TEDS thigh-highs, oh the humanity

I had to get my legs measured today for my TEDS thigh-high stockings.

I suppose the Rockettes suffer similiar indiginities, which does ease the sting a bit.

Those medically prescribed stockings are just wicked attractive, aren't they? And they only come in a blinding, glaring white. Which works out well for me, since a bathroom toilet has more pigmentation than I do. Quite frankly, given my albino tendencies, I think no one will even know I've got them on.

I wonder if I can wear a black maillot with them, like the model in the photograph. I could start a trend. Or be committed. One or the other.

It's not like I have to wear a scuba suit, which I actually might have preferred (better than the girdle pants my mother gave me as a gift three years ago). Covers more square footage, and much more disciplinary in general.

I asked the young lady who had to measure my legs with yellow tape if this was actually written in her job description. (Must measure the calves of aging housewife without comment.)

She laughed and said, No, but that's okay.

Why do I have to wear them, again? Because my circulation is poor (though I already knew that, based on my Site Meter stats) and when I stand the blood tends to pool in my legs and then every danger signal in my body starts flashing: go horizontal! Horizontal! She's a-gonna capsize, Sonny Jim!

Oh! And did I mention I also have to drink lots and lots of water, all the time, because I dehydrate easily? Sort of like SpongeBob SquarePants. I step outside and immediately begin to sort of shrivel.

But I'm not as frail as I look. I could still kick your butt if you cross me. So don't get any ideas. In fact, the stockings have superpowers. Be afraid.

Be very afraid.