Saluting My COVID Shorts

I don’t know why the Salesforce Chicago office doesn’t allow shorts. I didn’t know why Rightpoint didn’t allow shorts when I was there. But what I do know is that any sense of a dress code has disappeared over the last six months. For a predominant amount of that time, I wore shorts every day; that is, every day until today because my furnace stopped working. Cold and discouraged, I lamented out loud “No more shorts” and sadly put on pants for the first time since early April.

I want to thank my small army of shorts for clothing me these last couple months. You’ve spent a lot of hours sitting in the exact same chair. To my khaki, non-cargo shorts: you’re my go to. I’m sorry there’s a slight tear on the rear seat, but we’ll work on getting that patched soon. To my cargo shorts, thanks for having more pockets than I have needs. To my blue cargo shorts, I’m sorry that pair of scissors ripped through the outer pocket.

To my athleisure shorts, thanks for being pajamas, painting, and project shorts. It’s a weird combo, I know, but you do it so well. I apologize for not calling you up to the major leagues, aka daily wear shorts, but I have standards.

It’s been a fun six months, and while I love my menagerie of jeans, they’re nowhere near as comfy and endearing as you. Good night sweet princes. Rest well in the dresser. I’ll see you in the Spring.