, Then My Hotel Room Door Opened
On a recent trip to Florida, my mom and I checked into a hotel.
And what started as a relaxing night turned devastating in the time it takes to open a door.
After a shower, I toweled off, slipping on a robe to grab the delivery I’d ordered. Then, I’d tossed the scratchy monster on the bed, and naked is how I stayed — and how I will forever prefer to stay.
With my mouth full of key-lime pie and “I Am a Killer” on the television, I sat cross-legged on the couch on top of a towel. Nothing separated me from giving quite a show to the hallway should the door open.
And that’s when it did.
Due to the sudden surge of adrenaline when I heard a keycard beep and the door-handle said, click, the details are muddy.
I’m not sure why a housekeeper stood in my doorway with her arms full of towels. Or why her face twisted like she saw The Wolfman, but it happened.
Oh, it happened.
“I’m so sorry,” the woman gasped, clutching the towels to her chest.
Then, she exited as fast as she came, leaving me to process the last few seconds.
And why they bothered me so damned much.
Horrified, but why?
The next morning, I left out the back of the hotel while mom handled check-out. We drove to Savannah without a single peep about the subject until dinner.
“So what went on last night the hotel?” my mom asked, almost causing me to choke on a large bite of fried-green tomato. “The front desk would only say they delivered towels to the wrong room. I’d sent them ahead to my room while I unloaded some stuff. They apologized several times, though.”
Why I didn’t come up with a simple excuse is beyond me. Instead, I’d assumed as a doctor and no stranger to the human body, my mother’s amused laughter would soothe me. So, as my mom sipped on Chardonnay with ice, I retold the entire disaster.
Once I’d finished, my mom puckered her lips — a sign of discomfort — and said, “Well, that’s embarrassing.”
“Is it, though, Ma?”
Until the night before, I’d never questioned my love of private nudity. Since puberty, when my parents fought me to wear a bra, I’ve loved the sensation of my skin against the open air.
I also assumed, like me, most people didn’t care about disrobing in secret.
We’re all born naked and get nude at least once a day. Is it so strange to enjoy our natural state? The answer is, of course not. Yet, a lot of people carry an aversion to nudity outside of sex — and even then, some are uncomfortable.
And though I was beyond humiliated by the last twenty-four hours, I couldn’t shake the sense I shouldn’t be.
My mom’s silence on the matter continued through dinner and to the car, which didn’t help me. And, by the time I received a room at a new hotel, shame convinced me to drag out my emergency set of pajamas.
As expected, all night, I tossed and turned, each fiber scratching at my skin like iron wool.
“I fucking hate clothes!” I’d groaned after several hours of insomnia.
If I could’ve fallen asleep, I’d have dreamt of the cool sheets on my skin as I sprawled out on the mattress.
Still, though I triple-checked the door and hung up a “Do Not Disturb” sign, I couldn’t bring myself to get free from my polyester prison cell.
If science says it’s cool, is it so bad?
The opinions of others carry a powerful influence, which is why the blend of shock and horror on that poor woman’s face burned into my brain.
People choose a more naturalist approach to life for a variety of great reasons Whether it’s for a boost in self-confidence and health, connection, or simply because they enjoy freedom, nudity is quite beneficial to your overall wellbeing.
On a personal note, adopting a “part-time nudist” life-style was a perfect choice for my health and happiness. Shedding clothes has helped me lose one hundred pounds, keeps my skin clear, smooth, and tight, and most importantly, gives me incredible confidence.
But if you’re still unsure, a quick trip to Google can show you I’m not wrong. There are many studies about the benefits of running around nude backed by some hardcore science.
Yet, somewhere along the line, society decided nudity is weird, and it became the norm to cover up, even off the record.
Still, as I sweat and roiled, I couldn’t find one reason why this rule needed to apply to anyone who doesn’t want to follow it.
So, with a smile and a sigh, I kicked off my pajamas, and you know what? I’ve never slept better.
Whether you are a jay-bird like me, or simply struggling to be your authentic self, I have some advice after this debacle. It’s a cliche beat into the ground, but applicable in many of life’s tougher moments — an oldie, but a goodie.
If something brings you joy, why give a shit what others might think?
As I sit here with my computer on my lap, dog at my side, and tits in the breeze, I certainly don’t anymore.