Legs...the great equalizer

Today was one of those rare, warm San Francisco days: low 80s downtown and not a cloud in the sky. Beautiful.

Days like this, people here tend to get a little excited, and we get to see something that is a rare sight for this area of California: skin. When the sun comes out, so do the rarely-worn shorts, the wrinkled sleeveless blouses, the back-of-the-closet flip flops. Nice.

So I'm walking to the train, and I can't help but realize that I am walking behind a pair of young ladies, wearing shorts that to my old-man eyes look more like underwear, or at best John Stockton's old uniform. Notice I am not saying I didn't approve or didn't appreciate, just that it made me feel old.

Anyway, I do a quick look-around to make sure I am not caught ogling these lovely ladies, when I realize I am safe.

Why? Because I am probably fourth in line of a group of men also trying to pretend they are not ogling these lovely ladies.

Now, here's my favorite part: we all, to a man, smile. In that tiny slice of time, we share the same private language shared by all men, regardless of race, age, creed, sexuality or socioeconomic background: it was okay. We all saw each other, we all _caught_ each other, and even though there is little chance that I would have a conversation or lunch with any of the other guys, for that one suspended moment we were in on the same secret, the same vicarious joy that comes from seeing a nice pair of legs and knowing that others are appreciating them as well. It's moments like that one that give me hope for humanity, and make me understand Hemingway a little better. Like I said, nice.

By the way, the forecast for the weekend is supposed to be more of the same. I'm smiling while I type this.