Wearing pants to class is the worst decision you’ll ever make
Why is Gainesville so hot?!
The morning was cool and brisk so I decided to wear pants. Little did I realize that the afternoon would bring high 80 temperatures and unforgiving discomfort. I live about 2 miles from campus and oftentimes walk home to enjoy the outdoors (but mostly to count the walk as my exercise for the day). It’s also a great time to call my mom. You have to walk and talk to build up that lung capacity like Beyonce. Walking to class was comfortable and there was a nice breeze to accommodate any sunny openings on the sidewalk.
See, what a lovely day at UF to walk around.
However, the equilibrium of my body was soon to be subjected to highly unstable conditions. I had no idea the Florida Gym opened up to the FREAKIN’ SAHARA. Rage overcame me. The heat. Oh God, the heat. Why had the day taken such a drastic, ugly turn right into the pit of the Devil’s living room?? I hurried to the other side of the street where I could submit my becoming-pink-very-rapidly-skin to the generous shade of the trees. Immediate relief. I began to reign in my anger and once again feel the happiness and enjoyment of the day I had felt earlier in the morning.
After my next class, the wind was consistently active so I began my trek home. I pulled out my phone, clicked on recent calls, and started talking to my mom. A solid 15 minutes go by and we’re talking about this and that (movies, classes, when I last dusted my room, how the chick-fil-A I had earlier wasn’t sitting right, etc.) and I notice the wind had ceased and it was getting hot. Real hot.
I was also approaching the stretch of 2nd Avenue after the law school where there is only pure, relentless sun during midday. All I could think about was my pants. My mom is talking about an episode of a TV show she just watched but I can’t focus. PANTS. WHY ON EARTH DID I WEAR PANTS.
You may think, well why did I choose to walk home? I could have easily taken the bus and avoided this struggle of creating the least amount of armpit sweat I could. But, these thoughts don’t help a person who is already over halfway done with their walk home. So I repeat, pants.
Thinking about the headlines in tomorrow’s paper “girl suffers death by pants”
My mom is still talking and my responses are struggling to sound nice and receptive. I give a couple “yeah’s” but I’m pretty sure they just came out as low grunts. My inner dialogue went as follows: ‘I am never wearing pants again, biggest mistake I have ever made, I think I’m going to die, IhatepantsIhatepantsIhatepants and how-is-my-mom-still-talking-about-this-show-for-the-mother-of-god doesn’t she know what I’m going through right now?!?!?!’ Eventually, after a few more escalated, incoherent grunts my mom asks me if I am mad at her and I speedily respond, “It’s not you, it’s MY PANTS.”
Then she understood. She knows my long-lived struggle with pants and my unwillingness to accept them in relation with a good mood and an even temper. We decided to hang up and talk later when I was feeling…better. So I hurried home, roughly stripped those god-forsaken pieces of fabric from my sweaty legs and sat in front of my mini fan dialed at full-blast.
Ahhh my mini fan, the love of my life: please cool my armpits as soon as possible
Wow, I thought, I’ve learned this time- I am never wearing pants again. Not until it is at least 40 degrees outside. Of course, I would later forget this entire experience when I decided to pick out my outfit the next day. There’s this one top that I had wanted to wear and I ultimately decided it would look the best with pants. So I did. The next day it was a high of 86. *Repeat entire sequence from the beginning*