if i were living in the torrential rains of southern california, i’d be set. the jeans i’m wearing are perfect for floods, mudslides, and showing off your nifty socks. i don’t even know what possessed me to put on these damn pants this morning (it might have something to do with a strict corporate policy about not wearing just your underpants to work). they’re about two inches too short in my estimation and really bug the shit out of me. i have no idea how these pants got to be too short because i’m sure they were long enough when i bought them. i should just throw them out, but i’ve only worn them about 4 times and it seems like such a waste. plus, there’s a weird irrational part of me who keeps hoping that each time i put them on they’ll suddenly be long enough. whether i’m waiting for my already short weiner legs to shrink or the pants to magically grown, i’m not sure.

too-short-for-me pants really bother me to no end. it always reminds me in 8th grade when Greg McMichael asked me if i thought i had really great legs. the question puzzled me, because i didn’t think i had really great anything (well, besides my collection of Sweet Valley High books). it turns out he was just making fun of me for wearing too short pants. all my pants were too short, i was a 6’1″ 14-year-old.

so today, i’m muddling about feeling like i’m in jr. high and pointing out my short pants before anyone can make fun of them.