I have a confession to make: I quite like getting around with my gear off.
To clarify, I’m only clothes-free within the confines of my own home. You won’t find me baring all on a nudist beach, or playing mixed doubles in the buff at a naturist camp, or at the World Naked Bike Ride in Sydney.
I haven’t always had a penchant for being a nudie-rudie; in fact, growing up I was quite the prude when it came to being in the ‘altogether’.
Of course, like any self-respecting toddler I used to LOVE nappy-free time and not wearing anything at all, apart from my Dad’s tennis shoes.
Maybe it was a British thing, and maybe it was because it was too cold in my homeland to be sans clothes.
At school I was always the one who would wait for the one cubicle that had a door to put my PE gear on rather than getting changed in the communal area.
This newfound love of mine didn’t show itself (pun intended) until recently.
It began a few years ago, when I separated from my husband and moved out of the family home.
I moved into a top floor unit and no one could see in, and as my son was only very young at the time being naked was fine. It felt so liberating. Plus, as the unit was near the beach, with the balcony door and windows open the sea breeze felt fab on my bits.
WATCH: The Sticky Situations panel discusses wolf whistles and what they really signify. (Post continues.)
We only stayed at that rental for a short time and the next move was to another unit block.
Again, it was quite private—only my kitchen was looked in on by one another apartment. As my neighbours were literally never there, I happily continued my #freethenipple get up.
One Sunday morning—coffee brewing, Barbra Streisand blasting—I was enjoying a karaoke dance-off for one. (My galley kitchen with its polished concrete floors made a fantastic dance floor for my moves.)
As Babs' duet with Donna Summer came on I was in my element, and would have given any drag queen performing in Oxford Street a run for her money. I was belting out “Enough is enough, I can’t go on, no, no, no!” in my birthday suit.
Just as I was bringing the song home with some serious big arms movements, I looked out of the open window and locked eyes with the two guys in the opposite kitchen who were at the sink watching me.
It was obvious the two chaps loved Babs way more than they had any interest in me, and I grabbed a tea towel to hide my modesty and mouthed 'Sorry'.
Now, as my son is reaching double digits, I know my days as an ‘at home nudist’ are numbered.
This is a real shame, as our new house is perfect for those who like being in the buff. We live on a hill on a corner block; the only one house that overlooks our garden is currently vacant.
We are on a great block of land, have a pool and a beautiful view of the waterways—you feel like you are one with nature.
Speaking of nature, yes, I have ventured into our garden without anything on. Have I hung out the washing on the Hills Hoist au naturel? Maybe, once or twice…
As I am the first one up in the morning, and because it has been so hot of late, I tend to do all my chores undressed—lunch box packing, ironing, dishwasher unpacking etc.
We live in a 1960’s bungalow and our laundry is downstairs, you need to go out the back door and down the back steps to get to it.
One morning I had the dress I wanted to wear for work on a hanger, wireless headphones on (listening to the radio), and I was heading to the laundry to iron.
As I walked out the back door, two gardeners, with their chainsaws poised on my neighbour’s trees, stopped what they were doing, a look of horror on their faces.
What a bloody sight I made: a middle aged mum, wearing only headphones stood there staring back at them with an equal look of terror.
To make it worse I wasn’t holding my tummy in, and as garden landscapers I’ve got no idea what they made of my ‘landscaping’ area.
I presume gardeners must get paid well for having to work up tall trees and use scary equipment like chainsaws, and no doubt they asked for danger money after finishing this particular job.
And me? Well, I am keeping myself well covered now (apart from in the bathroom and bedroom), much to the joy of my son and any future tradespeople in the area.