Shorts

     “Dear God no I don’t wear shorts!” I said looking at her reflection while I critiqued myself in the mirror.  “I look like I have little brown toothpicks jammed between my ass cheeks and my shoes.  I’m like the guy who skipped leg day, ankle day, knee day, calf day, all that shit.”

     “So what do you wear to the beach?” she asked.

     “I really don’t go to the beach.  If anything I’ll go to the bar near the beach but mainly I avoid the beach.”

     “What about when you go running?” she said, rolling the blankets back.

     “That doesn’t count.”

     “What do you mean that doesn’t count?”

     “I see running as torture.  If I have to suffer through running everyone else also suffers by seeing my scrawny little chicken legs.

     “People on vacation, on the beach, or just out for a leisurely walk should not need to suffer these tiny calves.”

     “Well what are you going to do for your birthday?  Weren’t you going to go to the beach or something?

     “No,” I said shaking my head.  “I said I was going to drink shots of sex on the beach.  Completely different.

     “I may have even said I’m going to try to have sex on the beach but, trust me, like my tiny calves, nobody wants to see that.”

     There was a moment of first time hook up silence.

     “So next time, if there is a next time,” she said, with a coy smile.

     “I certainly hope there is a next time,” I said enthusiastically. 

     “This was fun.  I usually hate dating apps but this was worth it.”

     “Thank you,” I replied, realizing at the moment there wasn’t going to be a next time.

     “So, as I was saying, if there is a next time, it’s sex on the beach.  You can walk over to me with those scrawny calves and stir my drink with your toothpick.”  She slapped my ass as she headed for the bathroom.

     “By the way those calves aren’t as bad as you think,” she said turning on the shower.

     It was a good feeling to know these tiny calves hadn’t caused any suffering this evening.