I’ve never been a fan of nudists. They take the fun out of everything.  What I like about most naked people is the motion and the sounds that precede their nudity: the whisper of cloth as it’s pulled over the head, the rustle of denim as it plunges to the floor, the tearing of fabric as you get fed up with gentility and simply rip it apart. Nudity is the prize at the end of all of that effort, but nudists don’t play like that at all. They’re like, hey, I’m naked and I’ve been naked for the last fourteen hours--so who wants to play volleyball?

Nudists are the kind of people who will tell you what happens on the last page of a mystery novel.  They will tell you what happens in a movie you haven’t seen. If they could tell the future, they’d tell you the license plate of the bus that’s going to hit you.  Their life is one, big, boring issue of National Geographic.

These are all reasons why I would not invite nudists over for dinner. Other reasons include my lack of interest in serving cold food that doesn’t spatter, as well as having to put plastic down on all my furniture.

Questions unanswered by this post:
Which is better, nudity or nakedness?

Do nudists get aroused by slowly putting on clothes?

Is there anyone more miserable than an eskimo who secretly wants to become a nudist?

When Obama is trying to get Michelle to be naked, does he talk about his passionate desire for change?

When nudists find out that one of their number is also an exhibitionist, do they vote the person out of the club?  Or maybe they simply shrug and say “Eh, whatever, there’s nothing wrong with being an overachiever.”