One day, in the bustling town of Stretchmore, a curious young athlete named Timmy Tightquads stood in front of his mirror, struggling to pull on a pair of compression pants.
“Gah! Why are these things so tight?!” he grunted, hopping on one leg like a deranged flamingo. “Did they shrink in the wash? Or am I suddenly part sausage?”
His grandma, who was knitting nearby (and had seen it all), chuckled. “Oh, honey, they’re supposed to be that tight. It’s science!”
“Science?” Timmy gasped, finally yanking the pants up—only to realize he could now feel his own heartbeat in his kneecaps. “What kind of mad scientist invented these?!”
Grandma adjusted her glasses. “Legend says they were created by a group of gym rats who wanted to feel like superheroes—but also like they were being gently hugged by a python.”
Timmy waddled around the room, his legs shiny and compressed. “But why? Do they make me faster? Stronger? Or just extremely aware of my own thighs?”
“All of the above!” Grandma said. “They improve circulation, reduce jiggle, and most importantly…” She leaned in. “They prevent your muscles from running away in fear during a workout.”
Timmy paused. “Wait, muscles can run away?”
“Oh sure,” Grandma nodded. “Haven’t you ever finished a squat and heard a tiny voice scream, ‘I QUIT!’ from your hamstrings?”
Just then, Timmy’s dog, Barkley, trotted in, took one look at the shiny pants, and immediately started barking.
“See?” Grandma said. “Even Barkley thinks you’re a high-tech cyborg now.”
Timmy sighed, finally accepting his second-skin fate. “Fine. But if anyone asks, I’m not wearing these for performance. I’m wearing them because my legs demanded a full-time hug.”
And with that, he strutted out the door—walking slightly stiffly, like a man who had very intimate knowledge of his own calf muscles.
The End.
(Moral of the story: Compression pants are tight because the universe wants you to know exactly where your quads are at all times.) 😆