The Pants of Springtime

April 21, 2007

Two bits about baseball over at Bugs & Cranks:

They’re Not Saying Moooooooo-vers — Are they cheering, or jeering? Just what are you hearing?

and(!):

Another 48 Hours — Two days could make a big difference in the N.L. Ease. Or not.

And now, a long bit about short pants. Enjoy.

With a long, damp, and chilly spring so far, today is the first day of the year I’ve been able to wear shorts. Usually, the short pants season starts much earlier for me; I like to get these pretty knees out in front of the public as often as possible. If you had patellas like mine, you’d understand. They’re breathtaking.

No, not really. The only way my knees could be considered ‘breathtaking’ is if I jammed one of them into someone’s solar plexus. Which I’m not likely to do, whether they’re covered in long pants or not. They may not be pretty, but they’re delicate — and they’re the only knees I have.

“I like to get these pretty knees out in front of the public as often as possible. If you had patellas like mine, you’d understand.”

At any rate, I usually get a chance to test-drive the old shorts earlier in the year. One sunny day in March, or a brief warm spell in February, and I’m all about shedding the blue jeans in favor of something shorter. That’s when I know summer is around the corner. Forget what the calendar says; when the sun is shining and the breeze is tickling your knees, it might as well be June.

Of course, the adventure every year is to see how the shorts are going to fit. This time, they seem to have shrunk a little in the drawer over the winter. Either that, or the swelling from my gimpy ankle has migrated to my waist temporarily.

(Yes, I know how ridiculous it sounds. But I’ve had these shorts for three years, and I’ve always fit into them before. So it can’t have anything to do with me. Or that enormous plate of pasta from the restaurant last night.

No, you’re crazy. Hush up, you.)

Plus, it’s not like I’m going to buy new pants — and certainly not in a larger size. I’ve finally hit the point where my age equals my pants size, and I’m not going back. When I hit the ‘big four-oh’ in a few years, it’ll be because there are candles on the cake, not a new milestone for the waistline. I don’t care if I have to grease up my ass with WD-40 and shoehorn it into a pair of Levi’s. The size number on that tag doesn’t change.

On the bright side, these shorts today aren’t that tight — just a little snug. I’m pretty sure no seams are going to pop, no stitches will give way, and nothing’s going to rip open and burst. For that matter, it looks like the pants will probably hold up, too. So that’ll be nice.

But just in case, I’d better get these shorts out into some sunshine, while it lasts. These New England spring days have a way of turning chilly and wet in a hurry. And nobody wants to see these pretty knees of mine all shrivelled up and pruny. I know I don’t.