I used to take pride in the fact that I wasn’t a crazy, obsessive, nagging girlfriend. I was a go-with-the-flow girl. The kind that lets her boyfriend be who he is, live like he wants, dress as he pleases. I’d never remove a poster from a bedroom wall or criticize the way he cooks pasta or make him wear less baggy shorts that don’t have mini stains on them.

Then I got a boyfriend who wore baggy shorts with mini stains on them.

As I’ve made clear in previous posts that bear his letter, R is a wonderful man who leads a life in which I rarely find elements to judge (and trust me, I can find a needle of judgment in a haystack of perfection). So I was pleased to see that my in-going position on the kind of girlfriend I would be was coming true as a result of the kind of guy I had chosen.

Then shorts season hit L.A. (Note: even though it’s warm here all the time people follow general season attire because they really want to pretend they have seasons. It’s weird.)

To backpedal yet again, R has very nice clothing. He isn’t colorblind and generally knows what fits him. So shorts-gate was not the straw that broke this clothing horses’ back. My request for R to buy all new Summer shorts came out of a place of love, respect, and many years spent with gay best friends who wear much shorter shorts.

I wanted him to look nice. I wanted him to be stain free. And my understanding of what short-length is appropriate for a man has been, shall we say, skewed.

R was not thrilled. His old shorts are comfy and barely worn and the stains will come out if he just puts a little Shout spray on them.

No, I said. They’ve got to go. They’re way too baggy and do nothing for your legs and those are grease stains! They’re not coming out.

And the worst part is, I didn’t feel bad about it right away. I felt like I’d triumphed over the forces of the former frat-boy. He would look great, and it would be my doing. When people saw us together they’d say, “who is that appropriate short-clad stud Jessie found, and can he talk to my boyfriend about the benefits of above-the-knee action?”

It wasn’t until I found R wearing the old shorts, curtly asked why he insisted upon looking like a preppy rap star and was told that the shorts I made him buy are, “weeny” that I realized I’d gone to that place I promised myself I’d never go.

Fine. It wasn’t until I told him to stop complaining and go change then saw him fidgeting in the shorts five hours later that I realized it.

Later than night I apologized. “I’m so sorry I turned into a nagging girlfriend and made you wear shorts you hate. It’s just that I want you to look nice, and I think the old shorts are a little tattered, and, and, and…”

R cut me off. “Are you seriously concerned about this?” he said.

A question like that represents those tricky relationship moments where you have to tell the truth because it will be obvious if you don’t but lying is undoubtedly the better decision.

“Yes,” I said, “I really feel bad.”

R laughed in my face and told me he doesn’t hate the shorts and appreciates that I want to help him look nice.

• “But they’re still weeny shorts,” he said.
• “Stop! It makes me feel bad when you say that!” I said.
• “Too bad,” he said.

And with that I think we may have both won.