My new place has a glass front door. We're looking for a Roman shade, but thus far, I've been less able to find evidence of the Roman empire here than Elijah Wood has found of puberty. So I'm forced to go streaking on a twice-daily basis in front of my neighborhood, simply to engage in normal walk-around-the-house-nude-as-ya-do activities.
But honestly, I come equipped with enough body shame that even if I lived in a nuclear bomb mountain bunker, I'd still wear underwear walking between canned goods and CB radio. Even that isn't totally true. If I have to walk in front of the glass door, I'll streak rather than clothe myself because I'm pretty sure no one is looking and I'm kind of lazy.
To the point, I'm not sure what wins: modesty or laziness.
|What? Pedophiles are a source of web traffic too.|
Now you feel dirty, don't you? Stop that. They're
in outfits MORE modest than swimsuits.
Why is it that the entirety of the Tour de France are comfortable wearing offensively tight shorts but I am shamed exposing my bellybutton in my own backyard? Perhaps it's because I'm doing breastfeeding yoga?
|It actually makes me feel bad that I find this funny. Image source (for pervs)|
Maybe it's the fluffer I hired.
Lets turn "Casual Friday" into "Underwear Wednesday". Or can we just agree to not judge each other's bodies because we all have crazy body quirks and lumps? No, you're right, men are too big of perverts and there's just too much judgement flowing around for that utopia ever to emerge. So let's just agree not to embarrass either of us by looking in my window.