(Via the deep : the shallow.)
Not that I’m a proponent of nudism or anything. I think it’s silly to shop for groceries or check the mail with the ol’ wang hanging out all friendly-like. But there are several occasions on which I’d one day like to shun my textile upbringing and embrace my inner sun-worshipper.
Commence clothing-optional bucket list:
- Visit nude beach (of course).
- Run laundry down to laundromat in the buff; blame economy for forcing middle America to choose between gas for their cars and clothes for their children.
- Step out onto balcony immediately after morning shower and read The Family Circus while fanning nether beard.
- Pose nude for art class while shredding Monterey Jack cheese onto chest, a la Terrence Maddox.
- Win first place in nudist beauty pageant after “mysterious” suntan lotion blight disqualifies all other contestants. (WTF??)
- Sleep in naked so that rest of family are more likely to be super-embarrassed when barging into bedroom.
- Apply for job as otherwise placid nude greeter at Wal-Mart.
- Travel back in time to when best friend’s smokin’ hot sister was twenty-one; activate naked coed sleepover mode.
Yep. Totally naked bucket list, just as soon as I start hitting the gym again and getting rid of them man-boobs…and the beer belly…and the backwards biceps…and the…fuck it. I think I’ll just keep my clothes on.