When I’m not contemplating the global debt crisis, the conservative assault on women’s health, or the everworsening situation in Syria, I’m thinking about other weighty issues. Like what to wear while running.

Last summer, when I learned that there are people who find it shocking and awful that women would wear skirts while running, I promptly went out and bought two. There is nothing that so endears a fashion or cultural choice to me as my learning that it doesn’t adhere to some arbitrary orthodoxy about how things are “supposed” to be.

I tried them out. They were fine. Not the liberating garments of empowerment that some had lauded, but fine nonetheless. They didn’t make it into heavy rotation in my running wardrobe, though, because I didn’t think they were all that flattering, and I am vain as hell.

But yesterday morning, as I was packing my bag for my evening run, I couldn’t find any clean shorts (laundry is not my forte), so I threw a skirt in my bag, oblivious to the wind forecast for the evening which was, I now know, WINDICANE.

It wasn’t until I was a quarter mile into my first hill repeat on the Cooper River Bridge that the wind began to pick up. The first thing it picked up was my skirt. I tried for about 5 seconds to push it back down, but when the wind blew my headphones clean out of my ears, I knew it was pointless. So I just kept trudging through the crosswind with my skirt plastered to my midsection and my rather skimpy undershorts on full display.

The looks I got from sensibly clad women ranged from withering stare to death glare. And, frankly, the notices I got from the men weren’t much better—apparently no one was terribly impressed with my Some Like It Hot peepshow. Marilyn Monroe, it appears, I am not.

The best part was that since it was hill repeat night, I got to perform my jog of shame twice. I considered bailing after the first hill, but my righteous indignation overwhelmed my remaining shreds of pride. At least on the second trip up the bridge it had gotten mercifully much darker.

At this point, I think I’ll be sticking with shorts. Until they come up with some new way for me to irritate the philistines with my garment choices.

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