She's a Super Freak: When Understhings Give More Away Than You'd Like to Show

I recently purchased some 'theraputic' thigh-highs from the Vermont Country Store. I did so because last year I had a couple of treatments to rid myself of my unsightly spider veins. I'm a sprightly twenty four years old, and it did nothing for my appearance to have purple lines all over my legs (mostly my thighs). I was even asked once if someone had drawn on them with pen. So, it was vain (and vein! hah!), but I'm glad I did it.

The doctor who performed the procedures recommended I wear compression hosiery to help deter new spider veins from forming (yes, after all my vain vein pain, new ones could form). I purchased a pair of knee highs and full hose at her suggestion. Apparently I have thighs of steel (or generate lots of thigh friction at the very least) because it was only a matter of months before they were destroyed. It looked like the crotch area had been put in a blender, and I had a feeling they would be of little use to me in this state. While the knee-highs remained un-shredded, I couldn't imagine how helpful they'd be at preventing more spider veins when they were almost exclusively on my thighs.

Enter my new thigh-high compression hosiery! If there was any doubt about my old-lady status may it be laid to rest! Just call me Grandma! Though, I'll admit, another reason I was attracted to the thigh-highs was their lacey thigh-band. It nearly made me feel young again...even in compression hosiery.

Since I have a desk job and sit on my expanding buttocks all day, I took my new thigh-highs out of the packaging and put them on under my work pants.

Everything was going great until I went into the bathroom at work and caught a glimps of myself in the full length mirror. Let it be known I have recently gained a little weight. Nothing too noticeable to the outsider (or so I thought), but enough that my pants were feeling a tad tighter to me. In the full lenth mirror I could see with horror the lacey thigh bands holding up my hosiery in high relief through my pants.

Now everyone at my office must either think I'm getting some later tonight, or that I'm a secret spy a la Angelina Jolie as Jane Smith in Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Well that, or, as my dear friend just put it, "you're a prostitute on your lunch break." Sigh, what are friends for??