by CHRISTIE SINCLAIR
I recently attended a barbecue with a few couples and my boyfriend. Now, I’m not entirely sure what mid-20 year old couples are supposed to talk about over dinner these days, I would have expected the usual complaints about work, analysis of our mutual friends relationships and maybe a bit of a gossip. Thus, assuming I would be leaving feeling somewhat satisfied with the acquisition and distribution of information across the board.
Not so. After a nice dinner, a few wines and a thorough deconstruction of each of our relationships, (a given) our hostess with the mostess casually mentioned that her and her partner spend a hefty amount of their time at home together, in the nude.
Even referring to herself as a “NAH”- Nudist At Home. She assured me they weren’t traditional nudists though. For example, apparently they don’t don their birthday suits to do the gardening or wash the car. Just to perform menial tasks including but not limited to cleaning the bathroom and making dinner.
Please excuse my seemingly narrow-minded affinities, but this information didn’t rest too well with me. Not only because I couldn’t help but think about the bare body parts that had previously made contact with the beautiful leather sofa I was perched upon at the time, but I found the whole ideal a little, well, whack. Heck, I’d only ever heard of the concept of nudism on those radical TV documentaries. Never had I have ever considered my friends to be so fervent about being nude.
What surprised me the most was I was the only person in the room who found this concept unusual. Unbeknownst to me, even my partner thought in-home nudity was normal (a comment I would have probably appreciated two years ago at the beginning of our relationship). And in a paradox, I was branded a prude for not choosing to waltz around my house au natural, while these so-called nudists deemed themselves normal for being just that. Nudists!