Time marches on.

While we like to remain in one warm, fuzzy, familiar place, time just sidesteps us, and takes three brisk steps forward, leaving you with a mullet and sleeveless plaid shirt, wondering what the heck happened…

Case in point. The other day, I went to try and find some replacement casual shorts. The last (beloved) pair I had bought must have been 15 or so years ago, made by Nike. They were comfy, durable, and hipper than an Emu-burger on a multi-grain bun, holding the mayo.

Recently, not so hip. The wind whistled through areas no wind should be whistling. More El Greco than Air Jordan.

So, I was forced to find a new pair, and soon discovered that these shorts are no longer in existence. My quest took me from store to store, only to find myself looking like the whitest basketball player you have ever seen, with shorts lingering around my knees. And clingy, something that someone with an affection for pretzels and bon-bons is not really conducive to, body-type-wise, if that is indeed even a word. Or phrase…

By the 12th store, I had to come to grips with the new shorts reality, and settled on a pair with a little less satin than some of the others, yet still clung around my knees like a bad tennis skort. Even on a tall young Russian athlete lady, skorts are a failed invention.

Chow for now!!