Growing up, nudity wasn’t that big of a deal. We weren’t streakers or anything of that nature but I have had plenty of conversations where only one party was fully clothed. It wasn’t weird, it was normal.
My house now? Totally different story. Knowing that I have prudish kids I do my best to not flaunt my lady bits in front of my kids. Sometimes get caught nekkid outside of my room, but for the most part I know the rules. They boil down to to don’t do anything that will obviously drive your kid directly to therapy.
That said, my bedroom should be a place where I can spread my wings and fly just like the day I was born. It seems to make sense that if these are the rules negotiated by all parties over time that when you enter the inner sanctum, all bets are off….or should I say bras.
The goose, the more careful of my two kids, has taken to testing the waters with a firm, ” are you naked?” Her thinly veiled disgust palpable. The bug is a bit more of a rogue. He struts into the room, gets an eyeful, spins on one foot away from the vision burning his retinas like the sun, and usually says something along the lines of ” you are unclothed, charming.”
My sweet stubby hubs hunk always feels the need to round out the edges with a loving, “I could look at that all day long.” Whenever I’ve been caught in the buff by one of the kids.
Me? Whether it’s someone I’m related to to or someone I don’t even know, I always find myself thinking, “this old thing? Look all you like….or don’t. I’ll be amused all the same.”