Like a giant toddler with a variety of professional skills, I stumbled clumsily into the office, ready for the day. This was it. Today was the day I finally wore shorts to the work.

"Who is that bare-legged man?" a woman asked in the distant corner near the office supply closet. "I don't know," another replied, "but he looks so cool and refreshed, aside from the subway sweat."

Indeed, I was now cool and refreshed aside from the subway sweat. "I can hear you talking!" I remarked loudly, like an alpha dog barking at a truck that he thinks might be very large truck-shaped dog. The women near the supply closet did not respond; instead, they began typing on their computers while giggling.

How flattering, I thought, they're exchanging messages about my rarely shown legs, and how they look like a the massive tree trunk legs of a mighty bear with alopecia or some kind of hairless bear disease like bear mange, probably called brange. "My brange bare legs are bear-like!" I quipped with the quickness and volume of a thunderclap. Some people flinched at my strength of my wit. The rapidity of the two women's typing and laughter only solidified my place in office short pant notoriety.

After standing for several minutes with my hands on my waist like a Brawny man, staring into the distance with a knowing grin about paper towel secrets, I grew tired of the blank wall in front of me and sat down to begin the day. The cool breeze of the air conditioning slightly tussled the diseased bear fur on my legs. How is this for my brand, I pondered. Should I add this to my LinkedIn profile? Having not a beard, I stroked an imaginary phantom beard while in deep thought. What if I whimsically update my Facebook relationship status to say that I'm in a relationship with my shorts? Ha ha! You can't even be in a real relationship with shorts. Therein lies the "humor."

"Better get to work if I want that pot of honey!" I said. No one was listening any more. "Maybe I'll use GrubHub to get a pot of honey for lunch, with one of those big wooden honey scoopers on the cereal box that look a weapon but are exclusively for fighting honey."

How ironic. I had been so self-conscious about wearing short pants in a professional environment, but my welcoming coworkers had shown me that the only true shorts were in our hearts. And when you lay your hearts bare, who knows what pots of honey may bare themselves.