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Today I Accidentally Wore Hot Pants

July 7, 2010

People often start off their stories with “It was bound to happen eventually,” but the comedy of this one hinges on how out-of-nowhere and completely out of character it was.

I’m a tour guide at a certain garden that shall remain nameless, and we volunteers are encouraged to dress appropriately, which is actually something I do without even being asked, as a general rule. Today I left the house in a respectable pair of khakis, but, being an avid pre-departure forecast-checker, I was fully apprised of the fact that it was supposed to get so hot out this afternoon that the sun itself would be wearing sunglasses. I had plans to check out apartment vacancies in the west end after educating the tourist populace about Ming Dynasty scholars, so I tossed a pair of shorts into a bag for afterward.

A few hours later, with trou having been dropped in a bathroom stall at SFU Harbour Centre, I discovered that the dark denim shorts were the perfect colour to offset the bright turquoise of my t-shirt. Really a good match shirt-wise. In other news, they were about three inches shorter than I’d expected or imagined them to be. Entirely too much leg of Kate was shining forth for the world to behold. Granted, due to these oppressive patriarchal women-are-objects-,-especially-on-hot-days times that we’ve all been living in for about 5,000 years, it’s impossible for a young lady–even an out-of-shape one with the legs of a Baggins (fantasy nerd joke) and the ass of post-underworld Theseus (classics joke) and really genuinely honest to god no desire to display either–to find an irridiculous pair of shorts at a department store.

Okay but so I had these shorts from somewhere, somehow. Their origin was the least of my present concerns. They were probably the longest ones I could find last time I went shopping for shorts (ca. July 2004) and I just fucking gave up and bought them even though they somehow managed to make me feel even more self-conscious than usual and were basically my personal hat-tip to bullshit phallocentric etc. etc. etc. Standing there, staring at my hotly-panted self in the bathroom mirror, I pondered my options, which to my mind were as follows:

  • 1) Take off the hot pants, put the khakis on, and either go home or go sweltering through the west end uncomfortable as fuck for however long.
  • 2) Crank “Big Poppa” on my iPod and turn the streets of downtown V-Town into my personal catwalk.

Hopefully needless to say at this point in our blogger-reader relationship, I’m a sucker for any course of action involving Biggie Smalls. I now have a long list of landlords to phone tomorrow, and I don’t mind saying I looked damn inappropriate collecting them. Maybe I’ll wear the shorts again when I go to look at the places. In my experience, a lot of landlords like that sort of thing.

Throw your hands in the air if you’s a true player…

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