Do not be fooled. Long pants look harmless, but they suck the life out of everything. Biking, for example, devolves from exhilarating to desultory in trousers. Everything does. Wearing shorts, on the other hand, brings freedom and reckless abandon. We’re more carefree in short pants. Seriously. Shorts reduce stress.
Clothing often has that affect; what we wear influences our behavior. Neckties are to men what heels are to women, ever-present reminders to act like grown-ups. They’re the equivalent of shackles. And no fun. We look nice all gussied up, sure, distinguished and proper, but that’s not us. We can carry it off in quick bursts, get dressed up, put on airs and haul out the old table manners, but we’re happiest in elastic waistbands. Admit it.
Shorts, at least, can be worn in public and look as if you put some thought into getting dressed. Which makes them perfect; comfortable and presentable. But now they’re stored away in mothballs, along with my beloved bike. It’s back to grim reality and motorized transportation and pants. Bleeeech.
Pants is a dumb word, you know? And slacks is godawful. In fact, now that I think of it, slacks is my least favorite word in the entire English language. Not because of what it means, but because it sounds oily and effete. Effete, there’s another word I avoid using. Except here, in a double-barreled shot of scorn aimed at long pants. I’d bet Truman Capote said slacks rather than trousers or pants, he was a pretentious, la-di-da type.
Shorts are perfect for all things, with two notable exceptions: winter and falling off bikes. UPS drivers, lifeguards, mail carriers, Bart Simpson, they have the life — a life of knee-bared exuberance. You don’t see cops strolling the beat in shorts.* Or cracking a smile, either. ‘Nuff said.
copyright © 2015 the whirly girl
* Unless you’re in Bermuda. Police there wear shorts constantly. Heck, bermuda means shorts. Bermuda + shorts = Bermuda shorts.