Don’t come in, unless you want God to cry

My friend Katie over at is always telling me I could do myself a lot of blogging favors by adding some pictures to my posts. But when you’re talking about office nudity, I’m not sure pictures would put me any closer to the Pulitzer. Plus, it’s hard to read something fun and entertaining when the pictures are like watching a wasp lay its eggs in a live tarantula: mesmerizing but horrifying.

Way back in the creepy-crawly ages, or for the more religious types, back when bipeds sprang instantly from the bearded magic man’s will, two things were obvious and no big deal:

1) men have outies & a satchel, and women have innies & boobies

2) clothing??

Somewhere along the developmental road, it was decided that innies & outies were like Medusa and NASCAR: bad things will happen if you pay too close attention to them. There was some grand convention of The Ancient Prudes where it was agreed that to cut down on potential irrational obsession with the male-female puzzle pieces, they should be hidden away. Kind of like how you keep your kids from wanting cookies by placing them on the top shelf where they know the location, but have to struggle to get at them.

In the course of hiding away what every male and female human typically have (pre-surgery), it must have also been decided that any accidental (or even accidentally intentional) observation or display of what your magic man gave you was grounds for guilt, slapping and possible incarceration (where, incidentally, the viewing of your naughty bits is the least of your worries). The human body became a redacted classified document, obscuring the interesting bits.

We struggle to find the right balance between the guilt of naughty bit exposure and the expression of self, and our media is happy to shove us in as many directions as they can. Wear this cleavage-popping, hiney-hugging outfit, but make sure you only take it off in private. The confusion that is intrinsic to each human with regard to the natural body we’re given and how we’ve been led to fear it means there is no clear path to naughty-bits freedom.

Some people joke that there need to be more stringent laws to prevent us from having to see what amounts to a full ham crammed into an olive skin, but why and how did the mere existence of the human body become grounds for tribal persecution? Are we saying these bodies are wrong somehow? Because I didn’t choose or make mine. It was kind of like going to the car dealership and having them issue me a Gremlin when I wanted the Lamborghini.

Are we saying the magic man, who many believe did this to us, made something he was later ashamed of? What have I DONE? I gave them naughty sinful bits! Why not just scrap the prototypes and make us like hydras or starfish?

Hey, I just hacked your arm off!

Yeah, and I’m nowhere NEAR ready toΒ  be a parent, you jerk!

The point is, we’re here, we all have some variation on the theme of phallus or yoni, and we all know it. It’s only a secret because we all agree it’s supposed to be. And that makes me sad sometimes…except when I’m at a fast-food restaurant. See? See how the fear works?

All of this came to me as I was standing stark naked in my office having changed out of my lunchtime-debacle clothes, also known as gym clothes. I thought, what would I do if someone picked the lock to my office, or kicked it down while I’m standing here for 10-15 minutes naked for no reason? The answer was to make them pay in tears and nightmares and just stand there. But it never happens, no matter how long I wait.

Happy Bonus Entry Friday, everyone!

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2 Comments on “Don’t come in, unless you want God to cry”

  1. Meg Says:

    KNOCK, KNOCK!!! πŸ˜€

    I think the whole idea of clothes probably started when people came down out of the trees and began running after their lunch. The men probably found it mighty uncomfy to have their little wingwangs running out ahead of them, getting wapped by ever passing snappy bit of landscape.

    The ladies probably chose clothes as a way to keep the wingwangs that DIDNT interest them, away from their happy place.

    After that Karl Lagerfeld was born and continues to design clothes to this day, that no one but him can, or would, wear. πŸ™‚

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