Sans pants

Had my first post-op appointment with the plastic surgeon yesterday.

Bandages and plastic wrappings were gently removed, along with some stitches. My surgeon thought everything looked good and that someday soon, I’ll  be done with this round-the-clock sports bra routine and won’t need a bra at all because “your breasts aren’t going anywhere.” Hell, yeah.

He cautioned that I should keep wearing compression something something on my abdomen and legs to ward off swelling. As I’m ready to burn the itchy, stained abdominal binder I’ve been sporting 24/7 for the past week, I was a little disappointed.

“Do you know Spanx?” he asked.

Dude, please. Every woman in America knows Spanx. Say what you will about capitalizing on the DIY behavior many of us had been doing for years: snaps to Sara Blakely for her tenacity. And of course I have some Spanx shorts things in a drawer somewhere.

But now that it’s really, truly fall I think what I need are leggings. Only…high-waisted ones that would cover my incisions. Is that a thing? I don’t really do leggings. But I was already that lady wearing sweatpants in public. And had 2 hours before my next doc appointment. And Nordstrom is a half mile from Northwestern.

So I nervously crept through crowds of clueless shoppers who DNGAF about the less-mobile among them (high sign to all the elders creeping along, too—nice work with that cane-slash-weapon, ma’am) until I reached leggings nirvana on the 3rd floor.

So I bought some. And am wearing some now. But not as pants. Never would I ever.