Well I made it to November 17th before I needed long pants this year. That’s not too bad, but I sure hate wearing long britches. I suppose I’m still in denial because I can’t wear shoes – so sandals it is. Compared to the summer, folks, pants and shoes really suck.
I remember going to my first public meeting here on the Island and the dress code was a Hawaiian shirt, shorts, and flip-flops. I was terrified, since I was all slicked up like a preppie – heck, I even shaved for a change (I draw the line a men’s foo-foo though). So I came home, happy I could ditch the pants forever.
On the sandals I recall flying up to Connecticut one year, completely forgetting it might be rather cold around Christmas time. Now these folks don’t wear sandals in the winter, and were very concerned about my sanity. They had boots, galoshes, designer L.L. Bean shoes, hunting boots, work boots, and 15-pound mud stompers, but not a sandal in sight. Hey, it didn’t matter to me once you learned the art of how to slide on slush, snow, and ice. My feet were just fine by the way, with no frostbite amputations needed. Nope, I didn’t even notice.
But pants? I mentioned this to my buddy Captain Randy who was also at a meeting wearing long dungarees. He looked down with disgust. “Yeah pants, I hate ‘em. By the weekend I’ll be back in my shorts.” Then two more cool fronts came down with temperatures in the 50’s to 60’s with a 30-knot wind and cold rain and the Captain and I are pretty much fuming by now. I didn’t have the nerve to tell the Captain that when the temperatures get much over 50, the Yankees all put on shorts.