Brief Encounters

I was raised in a household where we were fairly liberal with our household apparel or lack thereof. Dad was a quiet man but none too shy when it came to walking around in his Fruit of the Looms. I remember a time early in our marriage when my husband, Dee, and I traveled back home to visit our families. We spent the night with my parents, and he saw my mom when she was in her typical bedtime apparel: a T-shirt and her granny whites. Dee asked me to say something to her about it, because the encounter made him uncomfortable. Mom let me know she would wear whatever she pleased in her house, which was a fair response.

Dee’s family was much more modest. He does not recall ever seeing his mom in the buff and rarely, if ever, in her underwear. His modesty continued as we raised our daughters. I recall many times when he dove to the floor or hunched over in an awkward attempt to cover himself when one of our girls walked into our room before he was dressed. I could understand if he were buck naked, but this happened even when he was in his underwear.

Before we became empty-nesters, Dee let me know that he could not wait until the day he could walk through the house freely in his briefs. Well, he found his freedom. Day one was our first official day alone. I came home from work, walked in the front door, and was greeted by his pants no more than two feet into the foyer. Sometime along the way, my free and easy upbringing must have rubbed off on him. Now, I have an oversized toddler in the house. Not really a toddler, but he may as well be. I can’t keep clothes on him!

We accommodate his uninhibited ways. Our daughters have learned to let us know when they expect to arrive at our house, so he can put on pants. And if I want to go out for dinner, I try to catch him before he has shed his clothes and is in his comfort zone. If he ever complains that he is chilly, I just roll my eyes and say, “There’s a cure for that.”

We have more privacy in our current home than we did where we lived when the girls moved out on their own. Our house backs up to a woods, and only our two nearest neighbors might see us inside our four-season sunroom, which serves as our family room. Still, I fear they may have gotten an eyeful on more than one occasion, because sometimes Dee claims even his tighty-whities are not needed. I often tell him I worry the neighbors can see him at night when our lights are on. His response? He jokes that he is a cheap weight-loss program, since they would probably throw up if they saw him. His attitude tells me, “I can wear whatever I please in my house.”