It all began when my cardiologist told me that "Compression Stockings" would probably take care of the pain and swelling that was making my left leg miserable.  That sounded like a nice, noninvasive process.  So, innocent of what awaited me, I set off to procure these items at my local pharmacy.  Sure enough, after only three phone calls, I located a pair at a nearby pharmacy that might fit.  Being of the modern generation and accustomed by now to stockings that were tights (meaning both legs were connected and part of the same garment), I was somewhat taken aback to discover, when I got home with my prize, that CS's were one leg at a time, and thus would require a garter belt.  The helpful clerk either did not know that or skipped mentioning it because of course they did not stock said garter belts.

            Naturally, being the curious and impulsive creature that I am, I had to try on these new purchases, even sans supporting system (garter belt) for the support hose.  I was amazed and delighted to find that after only a few moments, the pain I had been so accustomed to was gone!  I was a bit shocked to realize just how much pain I had been in, without being aware of it.  So, finding a garter belt now became even more of a Holy Quest (or Compulsion, depending on your psychological/spiritual point of view).  I called local pharmacies in town, a local medical supply store in the adjacent town, but for some reason, completely forgot that Google search was an option.  I am still unused to being able to answer so many questions there.  At any rate, after striking out at all pharmacies and having no luck at the medical supply house, I became frustrated and annoyed, and vowed that I would have a garter belt this very day, come hell or high water! Then inspiration (or so it seemed at the time) struck.  I have a powerful visual memory at times, and I recalled seeing a garter belt displayed in the Lexington branch of V------'s S------t, a shop that sells somewhat racy lingerie to the younger generation.  AHA!  Quick Watson!  The Game is AFOOT! (Pun intended)

            Off I go to Lexington, about forty miles distant, to the mall that V-----'s S------t inhabits.  After searching the entire store for a clerk, I finally ran one to earth and asked if they carried garter belts.  This young woman looked somewhat taken aback by my request, so I told her of my problems with the support hose.  She looked around frantically, as though turning her head around would somehow cause a garter belt suitable for someone old enough to be her grandmother to magically appear.

            "I'm not sure,” she croaked.  ”We might have some somewhere."  So we tramped around through various items of feminine underwear that would have been right at home in a bordello.  She was obviously embarrassed, and I was simply focused on my quest.  I wanted A GARTER BELT, and I WANTED IT NOW!  Finally, after a more thorough tour of the premises than I ever wanted, she slowed to a crawl, and said timidly, "Well, there's one more place we can look, but after that, I don't think there's anyplace else we would have them."  I was by now pretty sure of that, since we had prowled the entire building!

            Very slowly, as if she were approaching her own firing squad, she led me to the counter where there were on display... how shall I put this? ...undergarments that might be expected to show up in an X-rated movie with a title like "Attack of the 50-Ft. Pole Dancers."

            Sure enough, there on several racks hung what could, in an emergency such as this, be called garter belts.  There was only one slight impediment:  said garter belt consisted of a flesh-colored bikini-bathing-suit-like affair that is commonly known among the younger set as a “thong.”  It did justify the name “garter belt,” in that it could indeed hold my support stockings up, but Good Heavens!  And if that wasn't enough, the pink wisp of nylon had at least two ruffles of black satin, front and back!

            I paused for a few moments to weigh the odds against anyone ever finding out that I was holding up my Compression Stockings with a device that more properly belonged on the Madam of a House of Ill Repute, and made my decision.  "I'll take it," I said firmly.  The salesgirl's eyes grew round, but she handed me the garter belt, and I smashed it into a small, discreet bundle, and scooted for the cash registers.

            When I approached the cash register, there was a young couple ahead of me, and the He had obviously been buying a large quantity of the underthings for his She.  He turned a fiery red when he saw me approach, and I slipped my purchase safely behind me and turned away, trying to look as though I had wandered into the store because I was in an advanced stage of Alzheimer's. 

            "Oh well," I sighed to myself.  "The Curse of the Costume Goddess has gotten me in trouble yet again!"  I paid for my garter belt, and left quickly.

            I decided I could wear this peculiar item over my ordinary nether gear, and it would serve its purpose as a garter belt, at least until I could find a more suitable, if less dramatic substitute.  My sense of the ridiculous kicked in on the ride back to Berea, and I laughed until I cried.

            I also prayed that I would not be in an auto accident or other trauma that required disrobing! ###