::this post will NOT have any photos. You’ll understand why in a moment.::
Dear Mr. Cargo Shorts,
I get it. I get that you are comfortable in those shorts. I get that you are so cotton-pickin’ good looking that you don’t actually need to care about the fact that you are not in one of the only two acceptable life stages(the stage where your mom is dressing you, and that awful time in undergrad, when you thought cargo shorts and free t-shirts constituted a wardrobe) for wearing said shorts. I get that you don’t really put that much effort into your look – or maybe you do, as your look is that “I don’t try too hard,” look. I know, you’ve been workin’ out and with a swagger and a smirk like yours, you don’t have to care but….
I don’t know how to say this. Cause we don’t talk and I don’t really know you. I’ve seen you walking around and I promise I wasn’t looking that hard but…I’m stimulated by color and uh….those boxers you are wearing are a REALLY bright green.
I know, because I can see them.
Through the hole.
On the top of the back pocket.
OF YOUR DAGGUM CARGO SHORTS.
I was NOT looking at your bottom. It’s just that a little patch of HEY-IM-HERE-green in a sea of couldn’t-care-less-khaki was screaming at me. So let me protest again: I was NOT checking you out. No sir. I’m not that kind of lady, thank-you-very-much. In fact I’m so much of a lady that I’m not going to mention that your sub-par (style wise) bottom-half-covering-of-choice is leaving a little to be desired in the realm of …covering.
No I’m too genteel to bring that up.
So instead I’ll just blog about it.
Girl who passed you from behind.
(or who hates to see you go, cause she’s forced to watch that little green patch leave.)