WARNING: This blog post contains both nudity AND absurdity.
Sweet Girl, this is about your father, so you might want to stop reading here.
Back in my first wifetime, before there were child(ren), my baby daddy and I spent a good deal of time at the lake with another couple. Good deal as in every weekend from Memorial Day to Labor Day. Every weekend. Without fail. They had a boat and a tent, and we camped and skied and boated and ate and drank and laughed and slept and started all over again the next day. They were fun folks to be around, and our daughters were born only 4 months apart. That has nothing to do with any of our camping trips. I think.
It usually wasn't just the 4 of us. There was a large group of folks who camped together, some more than others. You never knew what the group's chemistry was going to be like on any given weekend. Each couple or family unit was responsible for providing groceries for one particular meal. For the life of me I can't remember how we divided that up or knew who was bringing what, but it always seemed to work. I would remember if we ever went hungry.
One night we were out in a cove in what felt like the middle of the night, probably around 10:00 or so. I was always impressed with Mark's ability to navigate the lake at night. Heck, I couldn't even navigate it during the day. Every cove looked just alike to me.
This one particular night we just dropped anchor and sat around in the boat, drinking (sodas I'm sure) and talking. Isn't it weird how people who spend so much time together never run out of things to talk about? I don't remember who first suggested it, but the subject of skinny dipping came up. Perhaps we DID run out of things to talk about. "What the heck?" I figured. It was dark anyway, and I didn't want to look like a wuss in front of Gail. Only later did I learn that she had never skinny dipped before either and didn't want to look like a wuss in front of me. The water was calm in the cove and it was bathwater warm, and we just felt like being a little wild. Besides, there was just that tiny sliver of time between when you got naked and when you jumped into the water. Almost non-existent.
Before I tell the rest of this story, however, you have to get the mental picture. My Baby Daddy's mother claimed he was seven feet tall. He himself claims 6'10". Personally, I think he's no more than 6'8" or 6'9", but over 6'4", does it really matter? (By the way, I am 5'2" on a good day. Our wedding pictures were nothing short of hilarious.) He isn't bulky and muscular, but he isn't lanky either. He's just big. He wears a size 15 or 16 shoe. In truth, we had to get a divorce because I couldn't afford shoes for him. Or food. He would eat however much food was left. On one of our camping trips, the cooks made homemade hamburgers. A bunch of them. I'm not talking those little square hamburgers that you can put 12 of in a sack. I'm talking huge homemade hamburgers. With buns. Baby Daddy ate 9 of them. Nine. With buns. That's how many were left, so that's how many he ate. But he wasn't fat. It's hard to be fat on a 6'8-9-10" frame. But he is big. Just remember that part.
On the skinny dipping night in question, he was quite willing to join in the slightly illicit activity. None of us worried about anybody else "seeing" us nude. Like I said, it was dark, and we were all such close friends. No one was jealous, no one felt threatened.
Well, perhaps Baby Daddy felt just a little bit threatened.
Because he stripped off his swimming trunks, but he put ON a life jacket.
He was perfectly capable of swimming, but he went skinny dipping with a life jacket on. I can't get that image out of my mind.
Except when I try to picture what all of us must have looked like climbing back IN the boat.