Thinking about shorts

The weather in Seattle has been hot, and apparently it's only going to get hotter this week. Which brings on a multitude of emotions for me. It's swell that the heat has finally come to our fair, green city. I get so sick of freezing in my house in May (my husband refuses to turn on the heat - he says, "Put on a sweater!" Aaagh! Is this something - some kind of fear-of-heater-usage chip - programmed into all men? My father is the same way), so my body is glad it's warm. I love going to the wading pool with my daughter, and splashing around with her and watching the absolute delight take over her entire being to be in the water playing with the other kids. I even love showing a little shoulder, and a little tanned, freckled decolletage if the feeling is right. But I am not so fond of the notion that we must be outside all the time in the nice weather, and I have a love-hate relationship with that American summertime clothing obsession . . . shorts.

I am an indoor cat, for the most part. I'll gladly attend a picnic or two during the summer months, though I do get a bit aggravated about hosting one myself (what is this need for packing up food in containers, on ice, carting it all to a park or other windy, hot, insect-filled locale, and eating off of precarious, soggy paper plates, all just to pack it all up again and unpack it at home?!). I'll have you for dinner in my dining room anytime you like. You can eat the food off of my dishes at my table, and I'll clear the table for you and wash the dishes with my soap and water that I have here at the house. That sounds very pleasant to me, and like excitement enough for one evening - even a summer evening. I admit that I would rather read a book or do a Sudoku or crossword puzzle or drink a Maker's Mark in my pajamas in the house than bring it all outside. If I had a beach house in Hawaii or the Turks & Caicos, sure - I'd be out on the beach every day and living in a bikini and probably even set my dinner table on the outside patio and invest in one of those giant bug-zapping machines. But living in Seattle, I get used to (and very comfortable with) staying indoors and building my indoor nest.

I'll get to the shorts thing. I lived in Europe for a year or so while in college, and for another couple of months some years later. I lived in Spain. And if there's one thing that identifies an American tourist quicker than some idiot shouting at a waiter that they want butter for their bread, it's shorts. Now, I am a snob in my own right but I'm not some kind of girl who's spent a few months in Europe and now I have a silly Madonna/Gwynneth Paltrow accent and I must have a cappucino every day for breakfast. No. I have worn shorts before and I am wearing them right now, for heaven's sake. I just think that the Europeans must be onto something for having universally and repeatedly rejected this clothing item. I heard the What Not to Wear ladies on Oprah one day confirming this out loud. They said, essentially, "Don't wear shorts, ladies," to many boos and gasps from the Oprah audience. They're right. Shorts look terrible. You all look terrible in your shorts, especially you ladies in the Oprah audience. I look terrible right now in my shorts. I bought short shorts because I have short legs and thought that the short shorts would make them look longer. What they do is highlight my gigantic, once-athletic, now wobbly thighs and bunch up in the area just under my na-na because that's where my thighs rub together (an area I call the "chub-rub" zone), so they end up looking like an adult diaper. Terrible. I've tried mid-thigh shorts and "walking" (knee-length) shorts, and none of them are right. And yet summer after summer, you'll find me at the Old Navy register, shelling out my $19.99 for the dream of looking perfect and summery/sporty in shorts. The problem with shorts is most definitely some kind of problem of physics. There is not enough weight to shorts, or not enough fabric, or not enough of either, so that your chubby parts of your legs grab onto the fabric and pull it up. This happens between your legs (as with my aforementioned adult diaper phenomena), or at the intersection of your abdomen and thighs, creating a huge exaggerated crotch look, or (perhaps worst of all) between your butt cheeks, so that it looks like your bottom is "eating" the shorts. Usually, it's a combination of all three effects.

I don't know why this is a love/hate problem for me. I pretty much just hate shorts. But every year as I said, I seem to get sucked into the excitement, and then I am very, very sorry. This is a difficult fashion dilemma. European women somehow manage to live without shorts - they wear skirts and long pants and dresses and always look cool and comfortable. I wear skirts sometimes, but that's not really the answer for a stay-at-home mom. I like to get down on the floor and spread my legs if I want and roll around with my daughter. And jeans are too hot for this time of year. Oh - P.S. I think capri pants suck, too - they have all the same problems as shorts and cut me mid-calf, which is suicide for the short-legged woman (though of course I own a pair of these as well - aargh!). Then there are pants that come in lovely "summer-weight" fabrics like linen. Linen is a really great fabric to wear if you are a mannequin in a temperature-controlled department store. Or a European woman. But for those of us who sit in the car or go to the bathroom or have lunch, linen is a big no-no. So for now, I am stuck.

Can I just say that the other big fashion problem I have this time of year is footwear. I refuse to go in for all the Crocs and Keen sandals. Those things are just silly. Yes, Seattle, I've said it. This is why I must remain anonymous. Just as I'll say that Birkenstocks are silly and have no flattering qualities. Really. However, I am at this point in my life where I really do need to wear something somewhat comfortable, as most of the time I am chasing a toddler around and can't be tiptoeing through the sawdust at the playground on three-inch heels. I wear these black Dansko sandals that I got a few years ago when we went to Italy for our honeymoon. They have a chunky, thick sole which gives me some height and have a lot of straps to them so I can imagine that they look a little bit sexy. They are passable, and I wear them every . . . single . . . day. They do scream "comfort sandal," though, so I'm currently looking for a new best summer shoe friend. I love the Donald J. Pliners, but I don't have $180 to spend right now on some sandals and no one seems to want to put a new pair on ebay for $30, so I'll continue to pine. And wear my short shorts and flip-flops inside my cozy house, contemplating how those damned European women do it.