It’s nearly 100 degrees outside, and I’m wearing jeans. They’re clinging tightly to my legs as if I’d just gone swimming in them. Some people I’ve met today believe I DID go swimming in them. To save face, I’ve started pretending I did.

To answer all the usual questions: Yes, I’m unbearably warm. Yes, I’m aware shorts exist. Yes, I’m aware shorts are not as hot as jeans. Yes, I own shorts. Yes, I knew it was going to be warm today. Yes, I chose to wear jeans anyway. No, I’m not an idiot—doctors have run tests. I just hate shorts.

As annoying as these questions are, they still beat the questions I get from neighborhood children when I wear shorts. No, this is not my first time outdoors. Yes, those are real legs and not prosthetics. No, I don’t have a weird Michael Jackson skin disease that makes me look like a ghost. Yes, calling me “Casper” is quite clever, but you’re seven years old, so how the hell do you even know about that cartoon?

Well, to hell with all of you bastards in society telling me what to wear. I hate shorts. I hate them in the same way some people hate UGG boots or Crocs. Shorts are creepy and weird. “Hey world, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’ve made it far easier for you to view my leg hair. YOU’RE WELCOME. My leg hair may awkwardly brush up against you at some point. Just ignore the urge to scream. It will pass.”

I’ve never liked shorts. They expose my pale, scrawny legs and alert people to the already obvious fact that I am a man who rarely leaves the house. People judge me in shorts. They judge me for not being tan. They judge me for not having gone to the gym since high school. They judge me for all the scrapes and bruises I have from being a highly functioning alcoholic who falls down a lot. If I were playing kickball in shorts, it’s safe to assume I’d get picked last, and the DAMNED SHORTS would be to blame. Which is crazy, because everyone knows kickball is a game of finesse, goddamn it.

Unlike jeans, shorts also come with additional expectations. People expect you to get a tan. You’re expected to coordinate the colors of your outfit, unlike with jeans where almost everything goes well with them. You may be asked to teach physical education classes to high schoolers on a whim, because your shorts automatically make you look like a gym teacher or high school football coach.

And prepare for a fiery rant if you get me started talking about socks. Being able to see the top of a person’s socks is very unsettling, like something was supposed to go there but the project ran out of funds. Everyone looks slightly out of place with the tops of their socks showing. It’s like dogs dressed in sweaters. You know the sweater can be there, and is often there, but you can’t help but feel it shouldn’t be.

Jeans are great. They’re comfortable and sophisticated. Jeans are one of the few items of clothing that have never gone out of style. Paired with the correct shirt, you can wear them to highbrow events like an art show or a strip club, and on the same night wear them to a punk rock show. In any setting, you’ll look cool in jeans. In shorts, everyone looks like an elderly tourist.

When I was younger, I could wear shorts because board shorts were trending. They were longer and covered the knees. They were ALMOST PANTS. Almost pants are nearly as good as REGULAR PANTS. Most importantly, they covered my kneecaps. This is vital because kneecaps are one of the ugliest parts of the human body (only buttholes are uglier). In certain poses, kneecaps can look like little creepy faces. I don’t want creepy faces on my knees. I don’t even want handsome faces on my knees. Shit’s weird.

So this time of year, even when the weather gets hotter than Jesus in a bikini, I wear jeans and lie to people about my comfort. No, they’re great. They certainly aren’t melting permanently into my skin as we speak. Someday I will die in a filthy gutter from heat exhaustion, but it will be worth it as long as the undertaker doesn’t dress my corpse in shorts.

Many people like shorts, or even prefer them. Some even wear shorts in the winter. These people are troublemakers. I’d recommend staying as far away from them as possible. If a war for basic supplies is part of this world’s dystopian future, The Shorts People will not be allowed in my post-apocalyptic gang.

Which is rough, because I have a Snoopy Snow Cone Machine. Just sayin’. No pressure or anything. You won’t be warm in jeans if you’re eating a snow cone, but you’ll be cold if you’re wearing shorts. My faction will be superior, and the shorts camp will likely resort to cannibalism. You should join up while you still can. No? I’m crazy? Well, to hell with you and your damned shorts. I’ll see you all in hell.