Have I ever talked about my hatred for shorts? I’m sure I haven’t. I hate shorts. Hate. Them.

I don’t hate people wearing shorts, I just hate them. Why you ask? Thank you for asking!

Let me tell you.

God blessed me with the body of a bell. I’m way smaller on top than I am on bottom. I know a lot of women are shaped like this but I am extra bellish shaped. I’m pretty positive bellish isn’t a word, but you catch my drift.

I think it all started in high school when I was getting ready to leave the house to go somewhere when my sweet brother said something to the effect of, “Why do your legs look like cottage cheese?” Those were probably not his exact words, but that’s pretty much the gist of what he was saying. The traumatizing effects this has on a teenage girl’s self-image is pretty obvious.

I was trying on these pajama shorts the other day to see if I could pull them off. Nope!

I have not owned, worn, or looked at a pair of shorts for at least ten years. The pj shorts I referred to previously were a gift that was part of a pj pant/shirt combo.  

At this point in my life I’m lucky if I show an ankle every now and then.

I kind of feel like I’m not alone feeling this way? Am I right? [Lie and tell me you hate shorts too. For my sanity’s sake.]

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