Culottes: (n) women’s trousers, usually knee-length or calf-length, cut full to resemble a skirt.
I have seen enough things come and go, enough rules altered–opinions ransacked by reality—that I can no longer abide just accepting a set of regulations without asking why.
In my lifetime, I was informed that long hair was effeminate.
I was told that divorce was forbidden.
Masturbation was considered to be a sin.
Dating between the races was anti-Christ.
And one summer, Camp Jesus Something-Or-Other refused to allow the girls to wear culottes.
It was absolutely ridiculous.
None of the boys objected to the restriction, because girls in skirts would be running, sitting oddly and the fellows would get a great vision of their panties, which would last until the next time they were alone in their sleeping bags.
Everybody—and I mean, everybody—knew the rule was bullshit.
Even when the counselors were asked why the stipulation was in place, they parroted off some answer given to them by the founders of the camp (which they didn’t believe).
I comprehend the process. For instance, for ten years we had to whisper that we “passed gas” instead of bluntly saying we farted.
You could talk about dating and love, but you weren’t allowed to mention sex. That is, until you suddenly were permitted.
Can we shorten this agonizing delay?
Matter of fact, let us decide that if there isn’t a legitimate health, well-being or realistic moral reason for a guideline to exist, we will call it meaningless and request that it be reviewed.
Once and for all, can we come to a conclusion that sanctifying our race by trying to corral human emotions is fruitless?
Culottes look good on girls. They make girls more comfortable. And the only time a girl wears pants and looks like a man is if she decides she wants to go for the whole butch persona.