And then I remembered I was wearing my ripped pajama shorts. That they are pajamas isn’t the problem. I have seen people wear less in a mall. That they are shorts isn’t the problem. All modesty aside - I have the best looking legs on any man walking earth.
I have been approached by random women (and once by a man) and told how attractive my legs are. It’s a pity I live in Minnesota because the temperature makes me temper my most attractive feature 7 months out of each year.
But I couldn’t put modesty aside yesterday. There’s a huge hole on the backside of my shorts. Avarice dictated an attempt to mend it. Sexism prevented proficiency. I was raised in the age when men didn’t take home economic classes. I can sew a button. I’ve sewn wild oats. But I can’t sew a patch to look less than a scar. Had I not recently discovered that I know more neighbors than I thought I did … I might have risked a rash dash to the dustbin. But rather than being kicked to the curb for indecency, I did the decent thing and threw on a pair of shorts.
Ok … see now you’re thinking, “did Mark give those shorts a proper place among the refuse or did he refuse to part with the pj’s because he doesn’t give a rip whether or not the seat is parted?” I kept them. I have them on now. Perhaps one day I’ll mend my ways. Or perhaps I’ll remain shortsighted. I don’t know. I’ll have to sleep on it.
August 11, 2007
