I exercise in my boxers. This routine took an unexpected turn when, on completing my workout, I headed to my kitchen and walked into a group of startled conservatives. They immediately drew attention to my lack of pants, and though everyone was taken aback by my humble appearance, nobody looked less comfortable than the lone girl present.
For a long time I have been bothered by this glaring social paradox. People can run around in bathing suits all they like, but not underwear. If I am in mixed company and am wearing naught but some briefs, it's a scandal. If I walk in on a girl wearing nothing more than the bare essentials, she will shriek and demand my quick departure.
Water apparently changes everything. In its vicinity, wearing nearly nothing is more than okay: it is expected. What's more, this is just as true in the comparative privacy of a backyard pool as it is on a crowded beach, where thousands are near at hand to gawk at you and your merchandise.
If people want to tell me I can't go about my business with my pants down, well and good. But come now, let's be consistent about it.
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