I was listening to a debate on BBC Breakfast TV recently, about the British attitude to nudity. A woman author commented that the British are, “very prudish about the naked body,” and said that she feels the nude body is a very beautiful thing and that we should all feel “free and happy” to parade it around wherever and whenever we liked.
Gazing down at my once firm belly, latterly an extremely rotund one and my used to be pert breasts which have completely given up the ghost against the pull of gravity, they started their life as a 34A and ended up a 38 long, I have to say I disagree. I love my body, I’m very fond of it, it’s the only one I have and I am grateful for it but I don’t especially want for anyone to see me naked, good grief no! I’m not prudish at all, far from it, I think I’m pragmatic. If you’ve got it then flaunt it but I definitely left ‘it’ behind a long time ago.
Many of us have experienced holidaying abroad and of having to endure sharing a beach or poolside with tons of people lying around semi or completely naked, it’s not a pretty sight, it fair puts me off my full English. No, give me my modesty any time, I’m perfectly happy with things the way they are. There was a time as a young woman that I felt comfortable wandering around my house naked until eventually I acquired two grill burns across my heavily pregnant belly where I’d leaned too close to the toast. After that I wore a kimono.
Listening to the BBC, I was reminded of a conversation I had years ago with my mate Tina. Every time I recall it, it never fails to make me laugh. I was contemplating my belly one day and looking down at it I dolefully remarked to her that I was now so overweight I hadn’t seen my c**t in ages. (Forgive me if I offend, I’m a child of the seventies and reclaimed the word a long time ago.) Gazing back at me with a completely deadpan expression she replied, “Really? I saw mine at six o’clock this morning when he came in from work.”