When the Sun Comes Out, the Clothes Come Off
Spring has sprung in Washington, D.C., and with it a tradition that is as reliable as the cherry blossoms. As soon as the weather changes and the sun comes out, the clothes come off. You would think this was Alaska or something, the way a 60-degree day sparks partial nudity in this city.
Lest I sound like the modesty police, let's just clear up the fact that nobody is looking more forward to flip flop season more than I. I can't wait to shrug off the wool sweaters and bulky coats of winter in favor of sundresses, strappy sandals, and other summer staples. However, I am willing to wait until summer to pull out the tank tops. Not so with many of my compatriots in D.C.
Reveling in the temperate, sunshiny weather, I opted to walk home in lieu of the bus. On the course of my walk, I saw a variety of scantily clad cityfolk. I think it's fair to exclude runners and bikers from my judgement, because at least they were exercising. There was one woman who was wearing a teeny, tiny little skirt with a very high pair of strappy sandals. She was also sporting a sleeveless top. Another guy had on shorts and one of those shirts that no one (regardless of summer heat) should ever wear . . . not quite a wifebeater, but a tank top type shirt with really large arm holes, so as to ensure maximum armpit exposure. There was a lady in short shorts and a sweatshirt -- because there was a chill in the air after all. I know she was chilly because I could see the goosebumps on her legs. And there were others, too. I half expected to see bikini-clad women sunbathing in Dupont Circle.
Call me a curmudgeon, but I just don't get it. As a girl who's always cold, I can't stand to leave the house improperly dressed for the temperature, so I can't fathom why anyone else might choose to. I bundled up this 43-degree morning in my wool coat and a light cotton scarf. Sure, I looked crazy carrying it home, but at least I was comfortable. So as the weather warms into the 70s, you'll easily be able to pick me out on the streets of the city. I'll be the one wearing a scarf.
Lest I sound like the modesty police, let's just clear up the fact that nobody is looking more forward to flip flop season more than I. I can't wait to shrug off the wool sweaters and bulky coats of winter in favor of sundresses, strappy sandals, and other summer staples. However, I am willing to wait until summer to pull out the tank tops. Not so with many of my compatriots in D.C.
Reveling in the temperate, sunshiny weather, I opted to walk home in lieu of the bus. On the course of my walk, I saw a variety of scantily clad cityfolk. I think it's fair to exclude runners and bikers from my judgement, because at least they were exercising. There was one woman who was wearing a teeny, tiny little skirt with a very high pair of strappy sandals. She was also sporting a sleeveless top. Another guy had on shorts and one of those shirts that no one (regardless of summer heat) should ever wear . . . not quite a wifebeater, but a tank top type shirt with really large arm holes, so as to ensure maximum armpit exposure. There was a lady in short shorts and a sweatshirt -- because there was a chill in the air after all. I know she was chilly because I could see the goosebumps on her legs. And there were others, too. I half expected to see bikini-clad women sunbathing in Dupont Circle.
Call me a curmudgeon, but I just don't get it. As a girl who's always cold, I can't stand to leave the house improperly dressed for the temperature, so I can't fathom why anyone else might choose to. I bundled up this 43-degree morning in my wool coat and a light cotton scarf. Sure, I looked crazy carrying it home, but at least I was comfortable. So as the weather warms into the 70s, you'll easily be able to pick me out on the streets of the city. I'll be the one wearing a scarf.
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