I have a confession to make - I'd rather
be naked. Don't ask me why but deep
within me lurks an urban nudist. Let
me make it perfectly clear that there is
nothing sexual about my urge to purge.
Rather I simply feel my best when I let
it all hang out. That doesn't mean that
I'm going to suddenly start frequenting
resorts where volleyball involves seeing
all sorts of things flapping about. In fact,
I have no strong desire to strut my stuff
given said stuff is slowly inching it's way
towards the floor as time marches on!
Instead my preference for brevity limits
itself to two categories - within my bed
and pants. As a tot Ethel garbed me in
a plethora of pajamas. Remember those
of the the stripped and piped variety?
To this day the very memory of dressing
for bed makes me uncomfortable. All of
that tossing and turning seemed to cause
everything to bunch up in all the wrong
places. Once an adult, I liberated myself
from said liabilities and now spend my
nights au natural. Not only do I sleep
like a baby... sometimes less is more.
For those near and dear, my predilection
for periodic public exposure is either a
benefit or liability. Given I haven't worn
PJ's in over forty years, my children grew
up seeing it all. While I rarely strolled
about the house with nothing on, there
were nights when a child's dream or urge
to spew required that Dad leap out of bed
sans shorts. My intention was not to scar
them for life, but I can't live or sleep any
other way. And while Frank's concerns for
our neighbors and upholstery continue,
I gotta be free and me... even if they see.
I'm comfortable in my own skin
hence strolling a clothing optional
beach or locker room is quite easy.
Once everyone has nothing to hide
behind, things gets real. After one
has seen it all you quickly realize
that nobody is perfect. Spending a
day in the sun as the breeze hits
your hot spots in very liberating.
You should try it when nobody is
looking (and trust me they won't.)
The only thing you have to lose is
your shorts and... inhibitions.
Years ago designer Tom Ford stated that
dressing sans foundations takes at least
five pounds off one's appearance. Given
skinny is not in my genes I immediately
went "commando." Don't be shocked,
but men of the beefier variety also suffer
from panty lines. Particularly when one's
pant preference is of the sprayed on type.
While some may fear that this sartorial
solution is unsanitary, I keep it clean.
Much like my time between the sheets,
eliminating that extra layer keeps me
and my boys happy. Less is more.
After years of rubbing along life's way,
everything down under has adjusted to
flying solo. Yet for whatever reason my
"bits" can at times be a bit too prominent.
Hence occasionally as decorum (and white
pants) require, I'll don a diaper. In that case
tighty whiteys are my preferred mode of
constraint given they keep things in their
proper place. Excess endowments aside,
there are times when I can get hot and
bothered. Life's ebb and flow occasionally
causes me to get rash. If and when that
occurs my solution is easy... baby powder.
At this point the few of you who are
still reading this diatribe may wonder
why I've stripped my soul bare today.
My point is simple. Why should you
do anything that doesn't feel fabulous
simply because of convention. Strip
away whatever it is that encumbers
your happiness. Life is short and who
truly has the time to do something that
doesn't make one's limited time here
on earth the best it can be? Whatever
is your equivalent to undies and PJ's...
TAKE IT OFF.
