They’re All Going to Laugh At You

The last time I wore shorts, I was eleven years old.

I remember that last day, and the shorts I was wearing – in fact, the whole outfit I was wearing – like it was just yesterday.

My grade was on a whale watching cruise, and the weather was gorgeous. I’d picked out one of my favorite ensembles to celebrate both the fine weather and the special day. It was a white button-up shirt and lime green shorts held up with matching suspenders. The fabric for both was a mid-weight cotton that was always wrinkled, because I didn’t know you could iron play clothes. I thought I looked pretty fabulous.

In addition to always being wrinkled, the shirt-and-shorts combo was at least a year old, maybe even eighteen months old. Given the growth surge I was experiencing at the time, wearing something so old was definitely risky as far as a proper fit was concerned. In hindsight, I probably looked ridiculous, with my long, skinny legs cascading down from the too-short lime green-and-white get up, but I definitely didn’t have the gift of hindsight then.

I was fine until I had the misfortune of catching some of my classmates laughing at me: doubled over, can’t breathe, hysterical laughing. And these were boy classmates, at a time when I was beginning to vaguely understand the importance of male/female roles and relationships. I wasn’t sure what about me was so hilarious, and desperately hoped they weren’t actually laughing at me. Paralyzed by humiliation and confusion, I was uncharacteristically silent, unable to ask what was so funny. It was the last time I wore shorts.

In fact, for many years after that, I didn’t even expose my legs. I’d wear skirts here and there for special occasions, but always with tights. In my early-mid twenties, fueled solely by liquid courage, I recall wearing bare legs under a skirt precisely two times. And then the music stopped again.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Now I am older, wiser, and less inclined to shoulder the yoke of social acceptability. I am also drowning in fabric, especially old pieces which I bought for all the wrong reasons. One such piece, a purple and white checkered seersucker, has been on my radar for at least a year, but every project I wanted to use it for fell through. Today, I finally found its calling: shorts! Unabashedly preppy bermuda shorts, to go with my purple-on-white Nikes (another ill advised purchase, but these things happen). Perhaps I’ll pull out my sleeveless white polo shirt, to complete the prep school look I’ve always secretly admired. Stay tuned for the making of shorts, the baring of legs, and the adoption of a new look.