My Sexy Compression Hose
At the top of my compression hose
is a nude-hued lacy stretch band
embellished with a flower pattern much like
lingerie I used to wear when I was younger.
The band wraps around my lower right thigh
and is reminiscent of the fancy feminine garters
of brides that per some traditions the groom is to
remove from her thigh with his teeth.
But no man is going to rip my hose
from my thigh with his teeth
to the hoots and hollers of wedding guests
with their champagne glasses held aloft.
No one will clap or shout sexual innuendos
like "Take it off! Take it all off!"
When I take off my hose,
unlike the bride, I will not be giggling,
sitting in a folding chair in the middle
of the wedding venue's dance floor,
her beaded white dress pulled up to there
and holding over her flushed face in embarrassment
the blush-pink rose bouquet she will later toss
to overly-hopeful brides-to-be who will knock
each other down to catch it.
I can imagine the bride's husband lowering
to his knees, clumsily trying to grip
the garter with his teeth, the top of his
head tickling his bride's privates. His attempts are
arduous and provoke ripples of laughter from the guests
until he finally accomplishes the task and is met with
great applause as he waves the garter in the air.
At night, to no applause, I roll my compression hose
down and take it off, like the nurse showed me.
The most important purpose of wearing the hose
after vascular surgery such as mine,
besides to reduce swelling and promote circulation,
is to stave off the formation of blood clots
that could break free and travel
to one's lungs or heart.
So I do feel my hose and I have an
Important relationship, a union of sorts.
Especially when I've gotten the hose down to my ankle,
I rejoice in knowing that all that's left is to
wrestle it from my ankle and foot,
which is the hardest part, which is my bane,
and which I think may cause my ruin,
all the while cursing the hose's lack-of-stretch obstinance.
I myself need a glass of champagne after
that vigorous tussle.
Ten days after the vascular surgery
on my tired old veins
I'm done with the hose.
Marriage celebration traditions can begin with the
removal of the garter to clapping, hoots and hollers,
sexual innuendos, giggling and champagne—
and the bride and groom wondering what the future holds for them.
My hose was a short-term annoyance
like the life-spans of many marriages.
But some couples will go the distance
for better or worse
in sickness and in health.
Some could have vascular surgery
or other conditions that require the wearing of compression hose
and any manner of maladies that may confront them
in between the good times.
I handwash my hose in the bathroom sink
using Woolite, as the nurse suggested,
then hang them over the wicker chair
on my back porch to dry.
Afterwards I put the hose up in my
linen closet with its mate in case
I have need for them
for some condition in the future.
But I can walk now with no pain.
That is cause for raucous celebration.
That is cause for a champagne toast
To my vascular surgeon!
Brides will sometimes save
their gowns and garters in a
preservation box as mementos.
My sexy compression hose too
are now but a memento.
