You Know It's Above 40

There's a yearly phenomenon that occurs here in Northern Ohio. It commonly affects high school and college students. Common sense stands no chance. As soon as the temperature hits 40 . . .

They forget to put their pants on.


Yesterday, it hit 56 degrees. Spring! Spring! Spring! Despite the inability to go more than 2 minutes without sniffling and feeling like my head was going to explode, I took the kid out for a walk at the Metroparks. As I strolled along, I was lapped by scantily clad girls sporting fake n' bake legs and asses I would have even been jealous of 10 years ago.

Bitter, party of one, your table is ready.

Is it wrong to hope that those freshman 15 hit hard?

Anyways, I got over myself and came to terms with the perma-jiggle going on with my own rear end. (Not running anymore is killing me. But given the fact that I feel 90, clutching my aching back, it's clear that I haven't healed nearly enough, even after four months.) I huffed and puffed and hauled the stroller up the gigantic hill, stopped to give the kid some freedom and a biscuit, and then headed back to the car. I was almost there, and had put my camera away already. And then. I saw her.

**Accept my sincerest apologies for not have a picture of this chick. But, I was too busy double-taking and scratching my head to dig it out fast enough.**

Bouncy blond ponytail. Orange glow tan. Lime green sports bra. White belly tank. Sparkling clean running shoes. And . . . wait for it . . . men's briefs. That's right. Men's briefs. So skin tight that the front opening was gaping. Thank God she was wearing underwear.

It was just wrong on so many levels.

"Hey! Put your pants back on!"