That is, if I were open to the idea of wearing shorts at all. Which, to be honest, I don’t think I ever will be. Because I’ve tried over and over, and, skin brushing, squats, and self-tanner aside, the results always seem to be the same. In fact, every year for the past 15, I’ve succumbed to buying a new pair of shorts. The concept still appeals to me; the coolness appeals to me, as does the idea of exposing my practically translucent leg skin to real summer sunshine. These dream shorts are always the same: barely grazing the knee with graceful pleats and fabric that smacks of really expensive tuxedo trousers. Every year, I tell myself I will wear them with a lacy sandal, try them out at the office reserved for a day that is insufferably hot and low on the priority-meeting scale. I can do it. I can be like everyone else and be cool, not pretending the linen culottes I’m wearing every day are just as good as your crisp, ventilated cargo shorts. (They’re not.) Wear shorts! You can do it!