I don’t want to shock anyone but I’m not wearing any pants. In fact I haven’t worn any since March 15th. That was our second day out and we were pooped for the very first time. (For you landlubbers it has nothing to do with poop.)
I was standing in the corner of the cockpit tidying up the lines after a sail change. Jack was in the helm seat, up on a pedestal. A rogue wave boarded our port sugar scoop and hit me full on, knocked me off my feet and shunted me across the cockpit where I wedged under the corner table. Jack got barely a splash and the water quickly disappeared down the scuppers but I was left soaked to the skin in seawater. I sent myself to the shower, clothes and all, and rinsed out the salt, put on a dry T-shirt and hung the wet clothes on the line. Later when my pants were dry I thought why bother? They’ll only get wet again and who wants wet pants? Since then I have not worn pants. During the day it’s warm enough and at night if it’s cool or damp there’s always a sarong or a fleece blanket to drape over my legs. There’s another reason to eschew pants. Getting dressed or pulling up your pants after a pit stop is often a bruising affair. In a sailboat underway you’ve always got to hold on to something to avoid being slammed against the sink, the towel bar, the door jamb, whatever. You can always tell the sailors in a crowd by the telltale bruises on their shins or arms. We call these boat bites. You hang on with one hand and that leaves one hand to pull your pants up and fasten them. It’s always a struggle, so I not only eschew pants, I pooh-pooh them.
Just to set your mind at ease, Jack continues to wear pants. And he frequently has to rinse the salt out and hang them to dry. He’s got two pair going most of the time, the ones he’s wearing and the ones drying on the line. Me, I can merrily sit on a wet deck or a cockpit cushion that got doused in a squall and it doesn’t matter. I just dry off and I’m good to go. It’s been five weeks now; I’m pants free and loving it. The skipper says he doesn’t mind.
As we get closer to landfall it occurs to me that I’m going to have to actually get dressed. This is like the days when I often worked from home. There was no need to be presentable. I could spend the day in my pajamas if I wanted. No bra. Heaven. Ok, so sometime next week I’ll have to dress like a grownup and we’ll both have to put shoes on. Tell me, when was the last time you went six weeks without wearing shoes? Or pants?