This morning, I read with interest an article in my local newspaper about a nudist resort in Connecticut. This resort, it seems, features a pool, hot tub, walking trails, a softball field and tennis courts, spots for recreational vehicles/tents.
And, well… nudists.
This is intriguing. (Except, of course, for the extreme cool temperatures and rain that has reigned, literally, over this summer ’09.) But back to my intrigue. According to the article, some 600 – 700 guests enjoy the amenities of this resort, by now, each summer. Hmmmmm…
I don’t think I know any of these people. Or, if I do, they haven’t told me of their adventures. This got me to thinking if I could handle, so to speak, the amenities of a nudist resort. It gave me a chance to strip to my core and self-evaluate. Could I, for example, emancipate myself from clothing for just a few days of nekked frolic? Would this deliverance set me free or freak me out? Where would I store my extra tennis balls? Which bat would I use during a good game of softball? Would the balls be soft? What about foul balls? Would I need a walking stick during one of my woodland adventures? Hmmmmm…
In the pool, at least my breast stroke would be a legitimate breast stroke. But what about my hair? Would wearing a swim cap breach rules? Would it be a bummer if I if I just sat around the pool and read books? What would happen if I ordered a beer or wine and the waiter brought me a highball? Would I say, “Oh, I’m sorry, but I’ve never had anything this stiff?” And how would I handle my tips?
How are meals handled? Would I ride herd on down to the dining areas? Or would I chafe a few of my own?
You see, I like to be cooperative. But I need a bit more information before I can act jointly in a new venture. Yes, I think this conversion needs more time in which to make a suitable decision.