A Short Dilemma

It is the first day of summer. All of your friends are calling to come out and play. Yes, my friend it is time to open the drawer that has been jealous all winter of the long underwear and wool socks for the past six months. Summer clothes; preserved in your dresser like a time capsule. Light cotton shirts and shorts…. ah, shorts. Damn. That’s right! All your shorts looked near death last summer so you sacrificed them, promising the drawer to fill it with all the brand-new stuff this spring. But spring has come, and summer is at your door waiting… tapping its flowered foot impatiently, waiting as it glances at time knowing there is not much to be fussing about a wardrobe.

You dig through tangerine tube tops, Barbie doll pink bikinis, and starched white linen dresses. In a panic you reach for the pants drawer. Ahhhh, that is the pair of the trusty jeans. Sliding into these is a well-known comfort. You know you look good in them because you stood in front of the mirror admiring your butt before that blind date that turned into five months of great sex. And every time you wore the jeans, your lover was instantly transformed into a drooling demon from the planet of Venus. Hands down the hips and then into that familiar spin in front of your charming reflection. Wait a minute…has that thought crossed your mind? **GASP** Oh my God! You’re going to do it?

“Well, they are a bit high-water, and the fade is a bit beyond acceptance at a semi-casual-art-food-vegan restaurant’s attire requirements,” as the word comes from your mouth your ears are not listening, “and…and…there’s a small hole in the right knee, and a bicycle oil stain at the ankle…I have gained a few pounds…it was a long, mean, cold, hard, brutal winter.” That was enough for your brain.

Marching out of your bedroom with determination and heading straight for the kitchen’s utility drawer, the food needed for intensive surgery is snatched up…

Back in the bedroom you find yourself in front of the mirror, pretending you’re someone else. You say, “my my” and “look at that sexy sex kitten. Doesn’t she have nice legs and just look at the shape those jean shorts give her…” A slight pause.

Then you tear them off…visions of beach balls, frisbees, the smell of barbecue, bike rides and the coolness of sunburn or unsunburned skin at sunset…cutting like a midwife at an umbilical cord…material flying elsewhere…sweat, drool, passion.

They’re done. Friends are calling. You speedily slip them on, feeling like you’ve lost limbs without legholes there. Ah…summer wait, we’re almost ready.

One last glance in the mirror…Damn! One leg is shorter than the other.