In Defense of Clothing…

Walk in to my house on any given day, and the chances are about 85% that my daughter will be running around unclothed.  We’ve drawn the line at full frontal nudity and gave her the rule that she at least has to wear her undies.

 

Without that caveat, her bare tushie would come in contact with just about every surface of our home, leaving a trail of poop crumbs in her wake from the vehement declaration that she’s old enough to wipe her own butt.  Lysol wipes can’t erase that memory.

 

It can be a frigid 10 degrees outside, and she would still prefer shunning her toasty flannel princess pajamas for the freedom of playing My Little Ponies au naturel.

 

Clothes litter the hallway like a strip tease gone horribly wrong.  Are clothes that terrible?  Perhaps she hasn’t found the right pair of yoga pants that hide her muffin top, yet make her legs look longer.  Oh wait, that’s me.

 

Both of my kids have always been sock shunners.  They’ll peel those babies off the second they enter anyone’s home.  If I’m lucky, those socks will be scattered by their shoes and can be quickly located.  But in most cases they’re hidden in nooks and crannies of the house, one sock near the door, the other a good 50 yards away, helplessly trapped under a dining chair and pleading to be reunited with their life partner.

 

I get it, in a way.  Socks can be slippery and get in the way of hard round of Chase Me While Whupping Me With The Dish Towel.  But out house eats socks faster and more mysteriously than the dryer.  I can’t have that kind of conspiracy here.

 

In all honesty, I’m probably a smidge jealous of my daughter’s comfortability in her own naked skin.  Especially now that I’m carrying my Winter Weight, I can’t phathom running around in the buff.  But my daughter hasn’t developed that self-critisism.  She loves her body, loves all of its delicious curves, and doesn’t mind who sees it.

 

Still, despite her positive self-image as a model, here are some reasons to stay clothed:

 

Clothes keep you warm.  I know this is a no brainer, but my daughter would rather eat dinner covered in goose bumps than keep her clothing on.  Ask her if she’s cold, though, and she’ll deny it through chattering teeth.

 

Outfits can make you look pretty darn cute. We all have those outfits, the ones we depend on to carry us through meetings, dates and family gatherings.  Whether stylish, cute, or slimming, they can make us feel good about ourselves.  Would I feel as good meeting my husband’s boss in my birthday suit?  Hells no.

 

They act as a buffer against food, craft spills, and bodily fluids.  Let’s face it, things happen.  We dribble food out of our mouths.  That glitter tube doesn’t close as well as you thought.  Your kid will rub their snotty face against your thigh, under the guise of giving you a “hug.”  At least if you’re wearing pants, you can take them off and clean them.  We all know how hard glitter is to get out of crevices and folds.

 

They keep all your parts held in.  Without underwear, my butt would spread wide across the sofa, spilling over to more than one cushion like The Blob.

 

Clothing provides a comfort that your own skin cannot.   Sure, skin is natural, soft, and feels good against your own.  But if I’m looking to cozy up with a glass of wine and unwind, I go in search of my favorite fat pants, fleece sweatshirt, and wool socks.  I do not, for instance, strip down to my skivvies and curl up on the couch.

 

They leave something up to mystery.  If we existed in a 24/7 nudist colony, where would the suspense be?   How would I get my kicks when Hugh Jackman takes his shirt off if it’s always off?  And how would I disguise my cottage cheese thighs if they’re always on display in the stark light of day?

 

Rug burns are tough to heal.  Not that this ever happened to me, ahem, but I imagine that rug burns on odd surfaces of your body are uncomfortable and difficult to apply Neosporin to.   

 

Did I miss any?

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