Winter is coming to an end in the northern hemisphere, an event that has long been celebrated by our species in a variety of ways. The need to get the hell out of the house once the snow is gone and dance around in expectation of new crops and livestock has produced a variety of parties in a variety of cultures. A lot of religious events even get wrapped up in this most basic need to rejoice, for whether you celebrate the fact that your ancestors’ first born children were spared or that a Jewish carpenter came back to life, in some ways you’re also celebrating the very deep instinctive joy that comes with knowing that you didn’t starve during the winter.
I, however, eschew most of these other observations and prefer my own method of marking when Spring has arrived: the reappearance on New York City streets of the piece of female anatomy known as “the leg.”
The female leg goes into hiding around mid-October in these parts and over the course of winter becomes more myth than reality, disappearing into bulky overcoats, thick jeans and weird articles of clothing I don’t even know the name of.
But all that is over now and for one day I suddenly stop caring if I’m being a horrible disgusting pig of a man because praise Jesus, Moses and Superman the women of New York City are displaying their gams again.
National Skirt Day is upon us. And it is good.