I have a condition that prevents me from wearing pants. I also have a note from my doctor. Notarized.
I hesitate to describe it, alas, my condition is this — Being a middle aged dad, I have no hips or bottom on which to suspend a socially acceptable lower-body covering.
Perhaps you have seen me wandering around The Village, frightening your children, puzzling orphans, and offending nuns and young mothers. When I think about it for less than five seconds, I realize that, by walking around without pants, I’m actually toughening my community up to the concepts of freedom. Sweet sweet freedom. Secretly, I am envious of those of you equipped with proper pants-compatible lower bodies. But – I stand as a beacon to pants-free freedom. I earn the kudos of my pants-less brethren and the scorn of the pants-full. I claim to not care about the latter because I am celebrated by the former.
Now, strangely, I have not been welcome at any of our community’s bars, restaurants, pizza parlors or coffee shops. I complained because the signs only say -No Shirt, No Shoes, No Mask (usually written in in crayon), NO SERVICE-. Nowhere are pants explicitly mentioned. All for naught. I might as well be a leper. A local liberal arts college student pointed, giggled, and said something about the “social contract” that I didn’t understand. My feelings were hurt, but I was soon comforted by the cool breezes off the canal onto my perfectly free lower half.
Thus, I choose to vote with my wallet, patronizing only no-pants friendly locations (which are, sadly, not of great abundance in The Village). I realize that The Constitution of the US does not guarantee my absolute freedom to do anything I wish at all times. I celebrate the idea that village shopkeepers, as private individuals, can enact rules as they see fit, rules that are consistent with the learned laws of our land. So, I mostly stay home.
But, if you see me out and about, do not run away scared, do not point, do not giggle – but celebrate! Celebrate freedom!