The other day a Facebook friend posted that she liked to hang out in her jammies, since she works at home. As I read her comment, I realized that I was sitting here in the nude because I was too lazy to get up and take a shower. But then I confessed to myself that I actually like sitting here in the nude. That day it was nice and warm, I live alone, and it’s kind of freeing not to have any clothes on.
Wow, I thought, maybe I’m a perfect candidate for a nudist colony! But as I thought about that, I realized that I’d be a total flop as a nudist. First of all, I’ve always been extremely self-conscious about being seen by others when I’m naked. And second of all, I feel that my clothes are more than something to keep me warm or make me look nice—they’re a protection.
Thinking about that reminded me of a time many years ago, when I was still a kid, and my mother suddenly decided she’d like to try doing her housework in the nude. We lived way out in the country, so there wasn’t any chance of anyone spying on her through a window, and it was a hot summer day. So she took off her clothes and grabbed the vacuum cleaner. I wasn’t paying much attention, because I was out in the yard playing, but when I came back in later on, she had her clothes back on. “What happened, Ma?” “Well,” she said, “I thought it would be fun, but I just felt too exposed—really kind of vulnerable.” I had pictures of her ramming her fanny into the wall or snapping her boobs with the vacuum cleaner cord. “I don’t think I’ll try that again,” she said.
In the sixties I ran into quite a few people who loved running around naked. We were all hippies, of course, and a bunch of us took off for Mexico, where my friends continued to stay in the raw as much as possible. But it just wasn’t for me. I went to a picnic with them once and tried to get with it by stripping to my skin, but I felt so uncomfortable I finally had to put my clothes back on. Then there was the day I went to visit my friend Dennis, and he opened the door buck naked. I gulped. He laughed. OK, I thought, this just isn’t my thing.
Nevertheless, I do like to hang out in my own private apartment with nothing on sometimes (when it’s hot). But you can bet if the doorbell rings I’ll be scrambling for my T-shirt and shorts before I answer it. Although I have to chuckle when I think what the reaction would be if I flung the door open in the altogether with a big smile and said, “Hi!”