My Stained Shorts
Nha Trang Travel Blog› entry 73 of 94 › view all entries
The only country that I could consistently find descent short pants for sale in was Australia. Most outlets in America pushed those baggy enough to sail the Mayflower. Those hung just above the ankles with the crotch somewhere below the knees. Every generation has its own style but when it comes to short pants, I prefer my own: above-the-knee length with deep main pockets, velcro cargo pockets on top of those, secured back pockets, and belt-loops to keep them above the knees in torrential tropical downpours. It took three years to find a good pair. That was in Wasilla, Alaska, and they cost more than $30.
Months later, I splurged again for bright yellow raffle tickets at the annual Gladstone Duck Races in an attempt to support my local community. Not only did I not win the Harley Davidson, I left the tickets in a cargo pocket on a weekly run to the coin-operated laundromat across the street from JC's Bar.
'Oxi-Clean'. That's what I was advised to soak them in, so did for two weeks in September. It didn't work. Dying them sounded too complicated and by the time I found a replacement pair, I would be dying of old age. At least it wasn't the front that was stained, or probably even worse, the back, so I continued to wear them. No one commented, stared, or pointed.
This journal entry was intended to focus on a sidewalk seamstress making a replica pair but the two who I managed to convey the desire to did not make copies. And with the months-long stain steadily fading in the tropical sun, I decided to go with what I had.