Ode to my shorts.
Do you own an article of clothing that is more than…let’s say 7 years? I could be a pair of jeans, shorts, or a shirt that you just wear at home? You do this even though they are ripped, tattered and has seen better days. Why do we do this? Why ware stuff that is past their prime?
I was going through some old cloths in my cabinet so that I could make room, I gave some away while others I choose to keep. Then I noticed my good old first year high school PE shorts. Its a green, short shorts (the one that PBA players wore back in the late 70’s) ripped from the crotch to the back. It still has the name of our school stitched to it (MCS, that’s for Malate Catholic School). Aside from the history that goes with it, this particular shorts is one of the best “pam-bahay” shorts that I have. It’s comfy and its ventilation system is next to none. My Grandma thought that I was going to make it a foot rag or something but then I again it is still my shorts.
Now on its 14th year, my shorts has indeed seen better days, the garter is loose, the sides have holes, and the ripped crotch…lets just say that is more of a loin cloth than a pair of shorts. I have decided to do the unthinkable, the unimaginable…have it repaired, or should I say restored.
For those who think I’m crazy, in the words of the Bartman “Eat my shorts!”
A second of comfort
You accidentally walked into the ladies room.
But could not get out of the cubicle because
You hear women chatting outside,
And would think of you as a perv.
You’re in front of a sea of people
Screaming tour name, as they wait,
For you to sing the first line of your song…
That you totally forgot.
Walking on tightrope 10 stories up.
Spikes tipped with poison welcoming you at the bottom.
…your leg starts to cramp.
Stunned with the dilemma, we panic.
Every second is a long and excruciating minute.
You can’t hold your bladder and your 5 kilometers away
From the nearest bush — away from judging eyes.
Every muscle, every fiber of your being
Compels you, orders you, commands YOU
TO MOVE YOUR ASS!!!
Yet you maintain a statue stance.
It’s comfortable in that moment.
In that fracture of a second, we are safe.
Cause we know when we decide to move, there is a consequence.
Thus we choose to retreat to the nothingness of that moment.
But it could only last so long.
Slowly, like a locomotive train we act.
Chug! Our mind sparks. Chug Chug! Our muscles react!
Chug Chug Chug Chug! We execute!
We are being defined by our reflexes.
You graciously walked out of the cubicle.
Acting like a member of the 3rd sex,
The women smiled and even commended you.
You smile.
Singing like a drunkard at the peak of intoxication,
You utter nothing but gibberish nonsense.
The crowd cheers! Thinking it’s a new twist of an old song of yours.
You laugh.
Finally. Hanging from a tightrope 10 stories high,
You hold on for dear life, praying to all the saints in heaven.
Taking a deep breath, you muster your strength…
You scream!
At least your getting somewhere.
