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Falling Short(s)


I bought a pair of shorts today to wear at a casting tomorrow that make me look like a shit tourist.

Shorts aren't the sort of thing I have in my wardrobe. I like to keep the goings-on from the knees down to myself. It’s good to maintain a little intrigue. We live in an era where people are used to seeing everything. We’ve been desensitised by porn and violence. By shielding my legs from public view, I’m trying to take us back to a simpler time; I’m doing my bit for public decency.

Yet despite my misgivings about displaying my appendages, I’ll be standing in a casting suite tomorrow evening, committing them to tape. Such are the compromises an actor makes for money. I'm whoring my pins out for cash.

There’s nothing wrong with the pair I bought in the end (£30 from Next); it’s more how I look in them. Something about the situation isn’t right. My wife assures me they’re fine, but I have a sneaking suspicion that anyone who sees me on the tube will pick up on my uncomfortableness; they’ll know I’m dressed as someone else. The question is: will wearing knee-high socks be a step too far?
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