Monday, February 22, 2016

THE LONG AND THE SHORT OF IT

Until I was about nine or ten years old, my mother insisted that I wear shorts. She had grown up in the day and age when all proper little boys wore shorts, and considered long pants both impractical and unsuitable for the young. If I had been a girl, she doubtless would have advocated skirts, for the same reason.

I hated shorts. They offered no protection against the natural enemies of little boys, namely rocks, sticks, stones, gravel, concrete, spikes, barbs, thorns, mud, bugs, rough tree bark, and stinging nettles.
Logically, neither do skirts, for little girls.
Even with a half-slip or petticoat.

Levis, however, and corduroy ........
Different kettle entirely.

She also had strong opinions about underwear: tidy whities and t-shirts.


It's not much of a rebellion, but I now always wear slacks, boxers, and what are "affectionately" known as 'wife-beaters' (A-shirts).


I can only somewhat imagine what it would be if I were a woman. Probably dungarees, French cuts, and please let us not speculate about bras, chemises, and camisoles.


The last time I wore shorts (briefly) was during an interdepartmental volley ball game. The Glynn sisters had persuasively snookered me into it, and laughed their heads off when they saw me.
Their considered opinion at the time was that I looked like an English tourist on the Costa Brava, right ridiculous.
It probably didn't help that I had black socks and penny loafers.

Shorts and a crisp white shirt: uber goober.


I am not an athletic type.

I still have those shorts.

But I shan't wear them.

[At least not until I'm a knackered old git and can get away with tonnes more "individuality", and no longer really care what the ladies think.]


I've been told that my gams are quite decent.
But there is no need to show them off.
I am not an exhibitionist.




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