Let's Hope My Husband Doesn't Read This...

That said, chances are he won't, but in the event that he does, he should not be ashamed or embarassed for his actions....

The Naked Truth


One of the things that irritate me the most about being told what’s fashionable is that it completely undermines what everybody is already wearing. Fashion critics are always making appearances on those morning news shows telling us what’s “in” this season. Oh, so now it’s not okay to wear pink pants? But last year you were all excited about the pink pants. Have you listened to yourself talk? “Chartreuse is the new orange! And pink is definitely OUT! If you are still wearing pink, you need to get a magazine and take a good look at what’s going on the world! Honestly, if I see anymore pink, I might puke!”

I’m reduced to sobbing in my closet feeling completely lost. Now what? Should I just chuck everything out and send it off to Goodwill? I don’t really care for chartreuse day-glow green or even what used to be hot, orange. I love how these fashion editors make these statements about what color is hot. Have they stopped to consider how ridiculous someone, such as myself, might look sporting a bright green shirt? It’s not going to work with my pasty, pale complexion. I’m just going to have to be out of style and wear pink.

You can never be in fashion. It is impossible to keep up. I have a real hard time agreeing with some of the choices stars wear for award show dresses. A well known actress was wearing what I thought to be incredibly hideous gown. She was so pale and that black tulle and lace dress completely washed her out and made her look like a heroine addict gone Goth. But all the fashion critics raved, claiming it was a hot new trend she was setting. That’s fashion forward. It’s not enough to be in style now. You must be constantly moving forward. So how should I dress now? If now is out and forward is in, should I dress like I’m from the future? But what about the past? Oh, that’s retro.

And what about these runway shows? There are definitely some weird “clothes” there. Designers throw together these gowns of exaggerated proportions made of new age materials like tin and gravel. There’s never anything sensible to wear. Then there are those people sitting in the front row, straining their necks to look at these odd creatures wearing even odder creations. And they’re all taking notes. What are they writing down?

The models walk very strangely, too. Who walks like this? It would really be something to actually be out somewhere and see someone walking around like this. And they look very pissed, although who could blame them? If it were me, I’d want out of those ridiculous things, too.

And it seems perfectly acceptable to be mostly nude and walk around when you’re a runway model. Nipples everywhere. I don’t understand how it’s okay for the runway nipple to be broadcast on the news that’s doing a segment on “Fashion Week” but never acceptable anywhere else. I guess it’s because the models are practically flat.
It’s comparable to seeing a three-year-old girl running around on a beach with only her bathing suit bottoms on. Nothing strange about that.

But I find it rather ironic how the only fashion show that you would rarely see a nipple is Victoria’s Secret. It’s the only show where the models actually get to wear bras, and underwear for that matter. They also can’t take the chance exposing the nipples because they belong to bigger breasts. For whatever the reason, the bigger the breast, the more obscene the nipple is. It’s the truth.

There is a line to be drawn with nude offensiveness of a man verses a woman. If a woman went around the city flashing people, the only ones who might make a call to the police is another woman. It’s hard to picture a man calling that complaint in.

“Excuse me officer, but there’s this woman flashing people around town. I really think you need to send out a squad car or something.”

“Is she good looking? Does she have a nice body?”

“Well, yes, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“Then I don’t see what the problem is, sir.”

“What do you mean? She’s naked!”

“Now, look, if she was ugly and fat or even a man for that matter, then I think we’d have something to deal with. But she looks good and no women are calling it in, so how about we just look the other way and let her have her fun, alright?”

Now if a man is flashing, that’s a whole ‘nother story. People would call the police immediately. Both men and women would have a big problem with that. It would make the news and the guy would be taken away in handcuffs.

If we had more male nudity in R-rated movies, would that help ease our fears? There are naked women all over the place and nobody’s up in arms about it. But if a male actor dares to show it all, people are talking. It’s a really big deal.

I remember when my friends and I went to see Young Guns. We only went to ogle at all the cute guys in the movie and couldn’t care less about cowboy and Indian story. One scene took place in a whorehouse where Emilio Esteves got up out of bed to look out the window and he was naked. His bare ass was right there for the whole theatre to see. My friend Margie and I got so excited about it. And when he put his pants on she yelled out “Rewind it! Rewind it!”

Men are much freer about their bodies, too. Women should really take a lesson from them. I cannot stand to be naked unless necessary. When I get out of the shower, I towel off and put on some underwear. I don’t linger around in the nude. I really don’t want to see my body in its true form long enough to make me depressed. My husband on the other hand likes to streak in the house.

He really doesn’t sit around naked, and I appreciate that. For the most part he’s very modest, except for when he gets out of the shower. Something about all the hot water and soap loosens him up. Because once he steps out and dries off he feels like a new man. He’s ready to make the long trip from the shower to his closet naked.

I’ve asked him why he does it. “How about a robe or even a towel around your waist?”

“What do I need that for? I’ve got two hands; one for the front, one for the back. I think I’m doing okay.”

Now there’s a good thirty-five foot dash from the bathroom to the bedroom. The windows are wide open and he’s in for the run of his life.