The swing of your hips

This afternoon, I came home from work, eager to rip off my work clothes and put on some shorts.

Alas! All my shorts were dirty - even my five pairs of man shorts. Wretched, wretched world, why didn't I do laundry earlier? What was a girl to do?

I had to leave for class in ten minutes, and I couldn't possibly wear pants. Not necessarily because it was sweltering outside, or because I still have a vain hope of turning my legs from cadaverous to pasty, but because my calves needed to be free!

Naturally, I grabbed a pair of khakis and cut them down to size.

No, I kid! I'm an accountant! We're much too prudent to destroy a pair of pants on a whim! I paid for those lower pant legs! But, as it turned out, my pants, bless them, had a stain below the knee.

So I sported brilliant cut offs to class today. But I did save my severed pant legs. Because, you know. They might come in handy one day. Maybe. Arm warmers, anyone?