Saturday, May 7, 2016

I will keep my clothes on. You are welcome.

Saturday was the annual World Naked Gardening Day and once again I did not participate.
You are welcome.
Believe me folks, nobody would want to see that.
In fact, the last time I saw my doctor for a physical, he wore a blindfold.
I am not sure why Naked Gardening Day was created, but it was.
Perhaps an exhibitionist was prancing around the yard in the buff and when the authorities showed up, the quick-thinking nudist made up Naked Gardening Day on the spot and an annual tradition was born.
The funny thing is, every article I saw and every picture promoting the event featured some really good looking people – with their naughty bits appropriately covered of course.
The women are gorgeous and the men are buff. Who wouldn't want to see them naked?
I am neither gorgeous nor buff.
Small children would run away screaming, people would be gouging their eyes out with sticks and the very plants I was trying to nurture would shrivel up and die at the sight of my naked, flabby, furry body toiling the land.
Perhaps if I looked like one of the muscle-bound garden studs in the promo pictures I would consider it, but the only six pack I have is in the fridge.
I do have ab muscles, but they are safely secured under a layer of flab which makes them look more like a keg than a six pack.
For me, naked anything day is just a bad idea.
Nude beach – if I was there it would be more like empty beach.
“But, the human body is beautiful in all its forms.”
No it isn't, and I could provide a couple selfies that prove it.
People of all kind are beautiful because beauty comes from the inside, but not all human bodies are beautiful.
There was a time when I looked pretty good running around naked and I must admit I enjoyed doing so, but what two year old doesn't.
Father Time has been slapping me around for several decades now and he brought Uncle Flab and Cousin Hair Loss with him.
I am sure Naked Gardening Day was started as a lark, likely by college students who are still in good enough shape to pull something like that off.
The social media ads for it reminded me of a beer commercial where all of these gorgeous people run around in bikini tops frolicking in the sun while the men's rippling muscles shine like a knight's coat of armor.
Where is the fat, unshaven, loud guy?
Where's the obnoxious drunk guy who knows he looks like one of those naked gardeners and proceeds to hit on every female within a 50 kilometre radius?
I know they are out there because I have seen them.
I have attended my share of gatherings where adult recreational beverages were consumed and the not-so-good-looking people (I'm not mentioning any names here) far outweighed the gorgeous people.
Hmm, perhaps the gorgeous people were avoiding the marginally good looking people, and there really is a party where everyone looks like a super model.
Odd that I have never been to one of those parties. My invitation must have gotten lost in the mail (that's my excuse and I'm sticking too it.)
To tell the truth, I really do look like a movie star. Sure, the star is Alfred Hitchcock, but he is still a star so I will take it.

Besides, beauty comes from the inside so on the outside I may be bald and flabby, but on the inside I'm a super model.

Copyright 2016, Darren Handschuh

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