• Awkward revelation •
[2 MIN READ]
My baggy shorts gave up the ghost recently by tearing at the lower seam and I haven’t been able to let them go. Putting them on, the verbal defense that came to mind was this: “It’s okay, there’s nothing to see anyway. I’ve been neutered.’
ASIDE: To be clear, being a first-time dog owner makes you think of this kind of thing, partly because Ziggy really is neutered and partly because one of his favorite napping positions is spread eagled. (SPOILER ALERT: The next disclosure some might consider to be of a sensitive personal nature relative to gender. Proceed as forewarned immediately after the conclusion of this sentence until the start of the next paragraph.) … To be clear, I also really am not neutered, medically or physically. That’s the kind of thing that happens to officials in charge of harems and kings’ wives (at least in Bible times. I am neither.): They’re called eunuchs.
This defense might come across as unnecessarily off-color and depending on the audience, I might agree.
I decided to test out the pants and the defense. I went to a meeting of Christian ministry workers wearing them (That would be me the shorts, not the workers.). Two of the 3 workers I know well because I serve Arcadia University’s Arcadia Christian Fellowship with them. One, Ben, is a 30-something male who is an ordained clergy member at a local partner church. The other, Nancy, is a 50-something female who, like me, has long had a heart for ministry to college-aged students. The 3rd person, Sam, is the 40-something area organizational director who supervises Ben and Nancy. I’ve met him and engaged in conversation a few times but know him a little less well.
I slouched into my seat and promptly looked at the tear in my shorts. Okay, yes, from the right angle you could see my equally plaid boxers. As I fiddled with the accidental opening, sitting across from me Ben said, “Torn pants?” as Sam listened in. “Yeah, but it’s okay, there’s nothing to see anyway. I’ve been neutered.” Much laughter ensued. Nancy entered and I observed—rather, commented on—the cause and repeated my defense. More laughter. As far as audiences, it helps that I laugh at myself easily and try to make it as clear as possible, as quickly as possible, to people I meet. All 3 of the audience members were pretty dialed into that reality.
I could have avoided the entire conversation just by changing the pants when I had a chance. But aside from being self-deprecating, I’m also weirdly emotional. The pants were a hand-me-up from my now 40-something-year-old nephew by way of my sister-in-law during a visit to my brother and her when I’d under-planned my wardrobe (after Nephew had started his own independent life). The pants were in a donation pile right when I needed them. They made me look cool and connected me both to Nephew and SIL. So why not change the pants and repair them to wear another day? What? And lose the opportunity to conduct a social experiment? Please.
So the question now is, if I continue the experiment in perpetuity or yield to social civility and retire them. Or at least repair them. Did I already say they make me look cool? Well now they make me feel cool, too. The experiment continues.
FINE PRINT ¶Text and photos: Calvin Wang (Wäng), CC BY-NC-SA 4.0. ¶Cross-posted: (1) Facebook and (2) Life @ iCandybyWangC.
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