“What the f*ck is going on?” I asked myself two Thursday afternoons ago while at my volunteer job in a medical office building near my home. (I man the information desk there for four hours each week, answering questions and helping people in a variety of other ways.)

The day was humming along. I was busy. But something I’d never seen before in the dozen years I’ve held the gig was becoming more and more apparent as the afternoon progressed. Namely, scads of male visitors, ranging from teenagers to senior citizens, were wearing shorts. Amazingly, in fact, it seemed that more geezers — my peers — were in shorts than the younger members of my gender.

The volume of shorts-clad guys in the building didn’t decrease at any point during my shift. I even saw two examples of those gentlemen, each a strong candidate for the Hairiest Legs In Town trophy, heading for an exit together. What the f*ck, indeed! Was it National Men-In-Shorts Day? Sure, the weather outside was mild. But on nice days about one in ten guys visiting the building normally sport shorts. On the Thursday in question the percentage was at least three times higher. Some pieces of photographic evidence of what I observed are included in this essay.

Now, there’s little doubt that just about nobody but me would have paid much, if any, attention to the shorts situation that day. I mean, who gives a shit about guys in shorts, right? Well, I do, but only when it comes to males middle-aged and above. That’s because I, once very pro-shorts, eliminated shorts from my wardrobe circa 1990. In my mid-40s at the time, I was of the opinion that shorts had become age-inappropriate for me.

Furthermore, I decided that guys in my age demographic or older would do well to follow suit. Needless to say, that didn’t happen and still hasn’t. I’ll never be an influencer.

It doesn’t take a psychiatrist or psychotherapist to understand that what I did and thought regarding shorts revealed and continues to reveal plenty about my insecurities and confidence level. Let’s face it, I feel slightly threatened by and jealous of mature men who appear in public in shorts. Clearly, though, I should admire them instead, as many of them, undoubtedly, are more comfortable in their skins than I am in mine.

So, I’ve got work to do. Mainly, I’ll try to stop asking myself “what the f*ck?” when shorts-wearing guys who are far removed from their 20s enter my field of vision. And it wouldn’t hurt if I bought and began wearing shorts again. Screw age–inappropriate!

Up until six months ago I wouldn’t have needed to buy any shorts, though, as two pairs of same had been residing undisturbed within my clothes closet for eons. One was a multi-colored gem, a work of pop art. Back in the 1980s I wore it proudly.

The second pair, taupe in color, lacked charisma but was cool nonetheless. For reasons I can’t recall, not only did I never wear it, I didn’t even remove the price tag. I suppose I bought this pair in the 1990s, thinking I might one day get back into a shorts frame of mind.

Anyway, six months ago a wonderful event took place: a multi-day, my-side-of-the-family reunion. People came from very near and from very far, everyone, including me and my wife Sandy, spending the majority of time in Philadelphia. For one day, though, the gang assembled at Sandy’s and my house in the Philadelphia burbs, where lots of fun was had by all.

I don’t remember why, but in the middle of that day the subject of clothes, maybe of shorts specifically, came up between me and one of my nephews, who was at the reunion with his girlfriend. Bingo! It instantly dawned on me that I possessed clothes I no longer wore and no longer wanted. I raced upstairs and removed both pairs of shorts from their burial site and bestowed them upon two folks much younger and better looking than I. My nephew and his girlfriend wasted no time in putting them on. The photo I snapped of them in their new duds is a favorite of mine. Have shorts ever looked finer on anyone? I think not!