I turned six years of age in the summer of 1940. I was still in short pants. Even at that tender age I hated short pants. Long pants in that day represented a rite of passage, and I could hardly wait for the school year to start, for then I would get to wear long pants! Little did I know then that the tortures awaiting me at school would far outweigh the joys of wearing long pants. But I have told that part of the story before. This is about men and their "shorts."
Before I launch into the rant, look at the picture. Why? I ask. Nevermind the answer, for I know that there is no good answer. Look at that! And my spouse encourages me to go around looking like that? Incredible. She said to me just the other day, "You have a ton of Wranglers in your closet that are worn and holey. Why don't you cut them off and make some shorts? It is too hot for long pants." See, one cannot even depend on his nearest and dearest for support sometimes. But the answer is an emphatic "Not in this lifetime." She even tells me, argumentively, "You have nice legs." Nice, yes; they have supported me, lo, these many years. Something to look at? I don't think so. I'm a guy.
A couple of days later, three of my stepsons were standing around here in the house talking about their shorts! Incredible. "I hate the way these things (tugging at the bottom of the things) catch on my knees when I try to get up from a chair." "Yeah." "Yeah, I hate that, too."
Ugly attire, too. Whatever happened to us anyway? Don't answer that, either.
If you ever see me in swim trunks, I will be on the beach or in the pool. You will never see me in shorts.
So some clever person will say, "Aren't you hot?" I say, "It's 102 degrees. Aren't you?"
Short pants on men: reversion to childhood, sez I.