I'm pretty sure those don't come in your size

Neverending quests. Those are always fun. I went on one to find the perfect undergarment. Ideally it could be worn with pants, shorts (not that this girl owns a pair, but in theory), skirts, capris.... whatever! It would also not roll up or ride up, cuz really, who in quality control thought THAT was a good idea. Said garment would play multiple roles in my world: part VPL handler, part panty hose, and part, well, part girdle. It would come in multiple colors because I'd prefer to avoid the personal tragedy of ever wearing black hose under white pants (again). The perfect creation might even have lace. It would absolutely have to be toeless. Above all, it would have to be CHEAP. Cuz that's the way we roll in Chiquapin Parish. Ain't spendin' no $25 on a pair of hose or panties or any combination thereof. Not doin' it.

Now I could never, say, tell anyone I was looking for such an animal because that would result in endless recommendations about "just the right thing." Can I just tell you... I'm pretty picky. I really didn't want to know about everyone else's perfect undergarment. I wanted my own. I wanted my quest to end with the satisfaction that I had conquered the underworld on my own. All by myself. I am, afterall, a big girl, and I can make my own decisions.

I tried 3,684 different brands and styles. I tried these and these and then these and myriad more. Such disappointment! Most of them never even slipped over my hips. It's a little like that fairy tale of the princess and the pea. Sensitivity - when related to clothing items - seems to haunt me. I must have no itching, no pulling, no digging, no cutting, and certainly no low hangin' crotch. Hates me some low hangin' crotch. In panties that is. But I digress. If I gathered together all of the samples of all the products I tried and put them together, I could completely max out a landfill the size of Georgia. My quest for the perfect-yet-cheap garment was becoming quite expensive. The bank turned down my request for a loan for further research. I was getting desperate.

And then it happened.

Two summers ago I thought I had found nirvana. No nonsense (shouldn't that second word be capitalized in their branding?) made a nice little specimen that came in both bike short length and capri length. It came in black. It came in nude. Yes! Finally! I can wear sandals to show off my fresh pedicure AND there won't be any pantylines. Chalk one up for the old girl - she went, she saw, she conquered. Until No nonsense discontinued the little darlings.

Searching high and low yielded nothing. Even eBay couldn't help the if-you-can't-find-it-on-eBay-you-don't-need-it girl. Are you kidding me? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I'd found the perfect thing and they. stopped. making. it.

Having no choice, I treated my three little pairs of perfection like newborn babies. They were handwashed daily and lovingly draped over the shower rod to dry. I'd shut the door to the bathroom to keep Studly Man and those dawgs outta that room while the babies were drying. They were sacred, and they shouldn't be disturbed. Afterall, they couldn't be replaced, and I knew they wouldn't last forever.

And they didn't. Last week, my thumbnail excavated a huge hole in the last of the precious garments. There was weeping and gnashing of teeth. Seriously. Studly thought someone had died. Alas, nirvana had come to an end. That could mean only one thing: a new quest. Joy of joys.

I stopped in at my beloved Steinmart last week. A trip to Steinmart can fix almost anything that ails me. It's a known fact. As I was about to leave, I thought I heard someone calling my name. Looking over my shoulder, I saw no one. Digging for my keys, I heard it again. Still.... no one. I took a few steps in the direction of the voice, and there it was. In all its glory. A beautiful display of what just might become my favorite undergarment ever. Spanx. Yes, I KNEW about Spanx. My friends wear Spanx. Patients who come to my office wear Spanx. Smart people wear Spanx. Me? No wear the Spanx. Too expensive for this girl.

But there they were. In my Steinmart. Calling out to me.

I caved.

Perusing the color and size choices, I selected a black number in the jumbo size. When I got to the register, I cringed at the thought of hearing the clerk ask me for twenty. five. dollars. for a pair of hose. She didn't. She asked for ten dollars. I leaned in closely and asked her to repeat the price. She showed me the tag which I had neglected to view, and it said $9.99. I wept with joy. Okay, I didn't weep, but I thought about it. Cuz really... could it GET any better than this?

Driving home with my find, I wondered whether these things were all they're cracked up to be. Would I fall in love again? Would my new quest be over as quickly as it began? Had my one and only true beloved been there all the time just waiting to be discovered? Could I cancel that call to the banker for that loan?

The next morning, steeling myself with a cup of coffee, I sat on the side of the bed with the package in my hand. I trembled at the thought of what was about to happen. My life could be transformed in a moment. I inhaled. I exhaled. I inhaled again. One leg on, then the other. Then the panty. Hmmm.... not bad. Not bad at all. But it was 8:00 in the morning. How would I feel at 4:00? At 6:00? We shall see, I thought. We shall see.

When I woke up the next morning still wearing my Spanx and began reflecting on the experience, I knew I had a winner. I'm in love. For the first time and the last time. It is the best ever. Ever. The search is over. It was right there all along.

So today, I went back to my formerly-beloved Steinmart to stock up. No jumbos. I examined every package. Yep, no jumbos. Opening the drawers below the display case, I thought I might find, you know, additional stock. Nope. What I DID find was a cute young Steinmart employee (well, she was not in the drawer, but you know what I mean) who eagerly asked if she could help me. I told her of my plight, and she looked at the display case. She looked back at me, gave me the once over, and looked back at the case. Mumbling something unintelligible, she stared at the floor. I leaned in closely and asked her to repeat herself, noting my pattern of such things here at Steinmart. She looked up at me sheepishly and said, "Um... I'm pretty sure those don't come in your size." "My size? What? Jumbos? Oh, sure they do. I bought some here a few days ago." "Well, I'll go ask my manager, but I don't think they... um, I don't...."

I took the impish young girl by the hand as we moved closer to the display case. Armed with PROOF that Spanx DO come in jumbo, I showed her the back of a package of the teensy-weensy size that would fit, say, a third grader. There in black and white was the Official Spanx Size Chart. And yup! They make jumbo. With her wounded spirit and my wounded ego, we walked to the front of the store to find the manager. Imp girl told the manager, a distinguished gray haired gentleman, that I needed help finding my size in a particular product. She handed him the package and explained that I was insisting on having a jumbo size, but there weren't any in stock. He looked at the package. He looked back at me, gave me the once over, and looked back at the package. (Again... a pattern there at Steinmart.) He said, "Um.... I don't think these, um, come...."

"Yes. YES, they DO!" I heard myself shout.

And that's how I ended up in handcuffs in the back seat of the police car.....