It’s spring. Let’s all take our clothes off.

Such appears to be the prevailing sentiment at UCSD these days. On the first day of spring quarter, newspapers reported that “Dozens of high temperature records were broken in southern California,” and what more excuse do UCSD girls need to test new and exciting ways to display 99% of their surface area?

Naturally, no discussion of San Diego weather is complete without the comment, “San Diegans are incredibly spoiled, because the weather is always so beautiful here.” So here it is: San Diegans are incredibly spoiled, because the weather is always so beautiful here.

But here’s something you may not know — I’m actually not even sure I know it myself.

According to reliable, unnamed sources, the typical southern Californian is comfortable in a range of temperatures spanning about 4 degrees Fahrenheit. I’m guessing this range is between, say, 72 and 76 degrees. Compare this range to the average Canadian (comfortable within a range of temperatures spanning 20 degrees, the lower limit being zero Kelvins, or absolute zero), the average northern Californian (comfortable as long as their Starbucks latte provides a nice warming feeling or, if they are a college student, as long as their fingers are warm enough to easily light a joint), and the average Floridian (comfortable as long as their pink plastic lawn flamingos don’t melt).

Fine, fine. I can accept this. Go ahead, make cracks about how southern Californians have the adaptive ability of a newborn spotted owl with jaundice and a lazy eye. We don’t mind — we’re too busy testing the bounds of indecent exposure laws. (Not to brag, but — properly equipped with a wooly turtleneck sweater, a heavy snowboarding jacket, fleece pants, and U boots — I am able to comfortably subsist in temperatures dipping down to 60 degrees Fahrenheit.)

Joy be upon us, San Diego is enthusiastically bounding toward a sweat-beaded summer, and this means one thing: skirt season. If it’s frilly, transparent and descends no more than five inches from one’s crotch, girls are wearing it right now. Wide, bright stripes are in this season, because apparently we weren’t exposed to enough hideous ‘80s fashion the first time around. And it’s attractive for one’s behind to resemble that of a zebra. But I digress.

Like creatures rising up from the deep, such skirts appear whenever temperatures rise from “sort of warm” to “OK, it’s definitely warm now” — and UCSD girls, if we do nothing else with pride, it’s wearing these skirts. Men are left pondering such crucial questions as, “What sort of benevolent being invented these garments?” “What are these girls wearing underneath?” and “Will I pick my jaw up off the ground in time to make it to my next class?” These are good questions, and ones that this column won’t attempt to answer.

Instead, I’ll instead avoid answering another pressing question: Why do some girls find it appealing to dye their skin the color of baked ham? Day-Glo orange skin, especially when paired with bleach-blonde hair, is simply not a natural, healthy or attractive feature. Maybe these girls are able to see into the future, when “Skin Cancer is the new Pink!” Or do these girls wish to enhance their tan lines, thus highlighting their naughty bits so their mentally challenged boyfriends won’t face any sort of challenge when displaying their extremely large, uh, personalities? I can only wonder.

Between buttoning my skirt and slipping on my regulation-height Reef sandals this morning, I wondered how people in the 1950s survived such heat as we’re experiencing right now. Surely the poor wretches, trapped in pleated pants and knee-length skirts, sweated to death in southern California springs and summers? Maybe it was colder in the ‘50s than it is now. Yes, it must’ve been — being forced to cover any significant amount of skin in 75-degree weather is just inhumane. Perhaps the naming of the Cold War as such was a manifestation of these oppressed peoples’ dream to be freed from the clutches of excess heat! Perhaps nuclear winter seemed like a welcome respite from sweaty feet and tight belts! (Perhaps nuclear winter should not be milked for its comedic value.)

Certain scientists talk a lot about global warming these days, and a certain man who happens to be the president of the United States systematically ignores the findings of their research. What more evidence of systematically rising temperatures do we need than an obvious long-term fashion trend, that of rising hemlines? Demand creates supply, people. I think I’m onto something. Or perhaps the people of earlier eras, living in the terrible dark ages before bottled tans came on the market, simply couldn’t make their legs an acceptable shade of “sultry bronze” (also known as pumpkin orange) to wear short skirts.

Well, we shouldn’t burden ourselves with such depressing thoughts. At the rate hemlines are rising, in the year 2030, skirts will actually rise six inches above one’s waist (leaving approximately 20 percent less to the imagination than present miniskirts). How will lawmakers revise decency laws to adapt to the evolving fashion, I wonder?

Well, no matter. It’s dropped below 72 degrees, so I must locate my parka.