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I sleep naked

Being comfortable while also being sexually hopeful, along with a sprinkle of disdain for wearing clothes—call it what you will.

You’ve got a 35-year-old man with back hair that his wife refuses to shave for him and who sometimes experiences sweaty-arse syndrome when nervous, all while sleeping like a neurotic bear.

I recall in college, whenever my roommate went home for the weekend, I would double and triple-check the door to ensure it was locked, slip out of my boxers, climb into bed, and drift off into slumber land with a huge, silly grin on my face.

Once my wife moved in with me, I hesitated for a few months to share my fondness for sleeping in the nude.

Then kids came into the picture.

When they were infants, everything was fine. At 2:16 AM, they were blissfully unaware as they screamed and cried while I changed their ‘baby-knickers’, and my wife lovingly provided a boob to soothe them.

As toddlers, they would wander into our bedroom but were too small to reach the peak of the bed, allowing me ample time to tuck a pillow and cover myself.

Then…they grew up.

Just this past weekend, I woke up and followed my sacred morning ritual, which includes some kidless and wifeless solitude while they slept soundly above my head. A couple of hours later, as my wife began to wake up, she remarked, “You really need to start wearing underwear when you sleep.”

I firmly disagreed, “over my dead body, woman!”

“Well, your daughter ventured into our bedroom last night, and there you were, lying naked on top of the sheets, on your back, fully exposed for her and the world to see. And she saw.”

That’s when it hit me hard. Sure, there are moments when you accidentally turn a corner while daddy is stepping out of the shower and catch a glimpse of him before the towel blocks the view. Then there are those instances of walking in just as daddy is pulling up his underwear, only to see a millisecond shot of his backside before the fabric completes its duty.

But nothing…NOTHING…compares to the terror of a sleepy little girl wandering into her parents’ bedroom at 2 AM and finding her father counting sheep with his “shears” casually on display for all to see.

Well…I suppose the only scenario worse than this would be if she had caught her daddy actually using those “shears” on mommy.

So, yet again, another cherished comfort has vanished. I now sleep dressed in cotton, and I’m not particularly thrilled about it.

by John Jackson

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