The cure for the summertime blues

On my way back from a meeting today, I stopped at a gas station and was subjected to one of the subtle horrors of summer: big people in little clothes.

In this case, it was a large woman filling up her car at one of the pumps; her back was to me and she was holding on to a floppy straw hat with her other hand (it was warm and windy today). She wore a pair of bib overalls and nothing else. And shoes, she probably wore shoes, but I didn’t look that far down. I was too turned off by the rolls of flesh spilling out over that frayed denim.

Don't get me wrong. I love all of God's creatures—or most of them, at least. I can do without insects that bite or are larger and hairier than they have any right to be. And I, personally, can find beauty in just about anything. It’s situational and it goes both ways. Anyone can look beautiful in certain light, at certain angles or when they laugh. Likewise, a supermodel can easily look hideous if she’s yelling at a child, digging out a stubborn booger or kicking a hungry kitten out of her path.

However, there are certain universal guidelines you should follow no matter who you are, how old you may be or what you look like, and one of those is: dress according to your body type. I'm not saying you have to put a bag over your head, wear a Snuggie everywhere or anything ridiculous like that but if, for example, it looks like your ass crack goes all the way up to your neck, you should probably put on a t-shirt. No matter how hot and windy it is.

I offer the same courtesy. When it's hot, I wear long shorts to cover my spindly legs and, usually, socks to hide the warped yellowish talons that my toes have turned into. I tuck in my shirt so the laser burn from where I had my tramp stamp removed doesn't gross anyone out and, when my neck goiter is particularly pink and throbbing, I'll wear a shirt with a collar—even though it feels like sandpaper against the inflamed peak. It's the least I can do.