Society makes short shorts a necessary evil

Evelyn Davis, cartoonist

I would like to begin by issuing an apology to all who have encountered me between the months of April and September: I’m sorry.
I’m sorry that my shorts are short.
Truly, I am. I’m sorry that sometimes my shorts don’t pass the “fingertip test,” and I’m sorry that you have to witness me uncomfortably fidgeting in attempts to make them appear longer.
It’s not my fault.
You might be thinking, “Of course it’s her fault. She can do whatever she wants. It’s her choice.”
And you’re right. It is my choice.
My choice between wearing short shorts and burning to death under the Kansas sun.
In today’s society, shorts come in only two lengths: Short, and extra-short.
I’m not wearing short shorts because I think I look hot, I’m wearing them because I don’t want to be hot.
From Target to Forever 21, no store in the greater Kansas City area can provide me with shorts that are of an acceptable length (Disclaimer: For under a million dollars. Gap and Jcrew don’t qualify. I don’t have $60 for a pair of shorts).
And believe me, I’ve been looking for shorts for the past three months. No one has anything to offer. A common topic of conversation among my friends is either where shorts can be bought, or complaints about the lack of acceptable shorts in this universe.
Three inch inseams aren’t exactly my idea of a good time, but when no stores can provide me with seven inch inseams, then I’ll take what I can get.
I’m not saying that short shorts are right- they’re not. There’s no need for clothing to be so little. I often feel uncomfortable by the amount of skin I’m showing.
But don’t blame me.
Blame society.
Blame every store that caters to the teen girl and believes that we like not wearing clothes
(People, that’s a stereotype. We like wearing clothes).
So leave me and my short shorts in peace. They’re an unfortunate, but necessary evil, at least until manufacturers get the message that longer shorts equal happier teens.
Until then, feel free to shake your head at me, sigh in disappointment at my lack of class, and remark on my lack of respect for my body.
It’s cool. I’m used to it.