the fine art of keeping your clothes on

I don’t really have much of a problem with this. In fact, the only time I choose not to practice this art is when I’m home, especially when it’s so freaking hot outside. But at home, I’m safe from the eyes of everyone but the deer. And nosy turkeys.

However, more and more each day I realize that there are many men and women who do not seem to be able to stay clothed. Just look at all those guys walking down the street with their pants falling off! I doubt their ability to dodge if a car came careening around the corner and up over the curb. Nope—they’d just be plastered to the bumper, baggy pants and all. Or perhaps sans pants—perhaps the force of the blow would dislodge them from their precarious perch.

And don’t even get me started on the women. Maybe they are all just really, really poor laundresses, and they keep shrinking everything. And I do mean everything. That’s one of the only downsides of going to the beach—having to watch all the girls in ill-fitting suits walk by. Didn’t their mamas ever pull them aside and teach them how to dress their bodies appropriately? Sigh. I guess that’s a rhetorical question.
Still, it’s obvious that these teens are trying to look sexy—don’t they realize that they just look awful? Another rhetorical question.

However, no matter how bad teen girls are, the wounds to my eyes are always worse when the beach culprit is an adult. The stupidity and lack of thoughtfulness inherent in teenagers gives them a little bit of slack. but grownups have no such excuse. Come on, ladies! Just because you can wear a mini-kini doesn’t mean you should. And look at what you’re teaching your daughters!

Sigh again. These thoughts are nothing new. I’ve said this before—and heard other artfully-clad adults say the same. I guess our voices aren’t loud enough. Maybe it’s finally time for me to grab a roll of duct tape and let my actions speak louder than words. But I don’t want to get arrested for assaulting a minor.

So, what made me think of this now, as I sit in a conservative office atmosphere? Well, I was actually thinking about my weekend. Yesterday was warm and sunny and very humid, and I was washing my car and weeding my flowers in pretty much no shirt at all. Remember—none of my neighbors can see me. (I just had to make sure I sprayed on more bug spray, with all that extra skin.)

The weather and lack of clothing reminded me of the far-gone late summer days of my youth, when we’d have basketball practice in a boiling hot gymnasium. I’ll never forget—it still needles me—we’d be sweating gallons and would toss our T-shirts to the side. Most of the time, we still had practice jerseys on; the light mesh was much more bearable than drenched cotton. So, there we were, 16- and 17-year-old butch girls, absolutely not-sexy in our knee-length shorts and high-impact sports bras, running suicides and other drills. Someone’s mother comes by, sees us, and complains to the athletic director. And we are mandated not to take off our shirts.

Meanwhile, out in the much cooler—and more public—hallways, the cheer squad is practicing in their little spandex shorts. They aren’t sweating much. Neither are they wearing shirts. Do they get yelled at? Nope.

But I’m not bitter. Oh, not at all. Nor do I think that the attitudes and actions of adults are impacting our children in harmful ways. Oh, no.