I was having a conversation the other day, with my Mom of all people, about what it would be like if we lived in a clothing optional society. Sounds kinda cool at first. Like, ladies, if you got too hot, you could just remove your shirt, or pants, if the case may be. No problem. The guys wouldn’t mind I’m sure. Or, if you spilled spaghetti sauce for instance, on your crisp white skirt you could just take it off and run it to the cleaners on your lunch break, and no one would bat an eye. Nice.
And guys, imagine all the beautiful naked women strolling along the sidewalks. Of course there might be a few more fender benders going on. That’s not so great.
Then of course reality sets in. You can stop envisioning all the wondrous nakedness swirling around you. You know it’s not going to be the buff and the beautiful taking advantage of this freedom. No no no, of course it isn’t. sigh.
Imagine this - breakfast at your favorite restaurant with your favorite friend. You’re sipping the fresh brew. The cute little waitress is topless. And she has cute perky nipples to boot. Life is excellent. But wait, your friend’s eyes widen. You turn to look…along comes something, something big and gross and what is it??? It kinda looks like a man. It must be a man judging by the swinging thingy looking thing that flops from side to side with every waddling step. Oh my! You think “Why in the world did I look.” You’re friend keeps staring in horror as do you. You just can’t turn away as much as you want to.
Layer after layer of jiggling flab get closer. Are men supposed to have such large breasts? And you know of course he hasn’t showered, for awhile, which is evident as he passes. Oh my god! Then you’re treated to the view of his big hairy ass as he finally gets on by your table. Are you still hungry? If so, did I forget to mention the flatulence?
If that’s not enough, what about the big, really big, friend of your friend who comes over to say hello, leaning, resting her hands on the table to support her bulk. Otherwise, being a bit top heavy she might tumble into your plates. Oh, but something is tumbling into your plates. Your water glasses go sprawling as those sagging, very large, swollen and lumpy breasts…oh you get the idea. Please, you scream silently, don’t try to pat me dry. “Aarghhh, get away, get away don’t touch me!”
I think breakfast is over. And I think I’ll keep my clothes on, at least in public.
