Naked Man by Donna Brown

Up here in the Northern Hemisphere it is springtime (or it may be summer now but it is never really hot enough to qualify) and when the day gives me sunshine and the bluest skies I plan an outfit deserving such weather. The perfect spring attire for me is a floaty, flirty dress of florals, spots or stripes paired with ballet flats, a floppy hat and big retro glasses...something girly and romantic enough for sipping bubbly and nibbling cupcakes in the sunshine amongst the flowers. Sadly the majority of people who flock to the parks here in Germany do not share my views, no folks, they favour their birthday suits. For me flesh is not a valid clothing choice and yet full frontal nudity blooms here alongside the daffodils.

Call me prudish, really, I don't mind, I probably am. For me nudity should be contained at home or in designated government approved areas, like hard to reach nude beaches with a bad reputation, somewhere where those that want it can get it and those that don't can venture out safely without becoming a victim of eyeball rape. I have no interest in seeing it sprawled flabbily in my local inner city park. An innocent stroll on a deliciously warm Sunday afternoon becomes an unwanted flesh fest as I try desperately hard not to see the budgie smugglers flopping about ungraciously in the daisy patch, the boobs bobbing in the breeze or the g-stringed butts growing from the grass. All this nudity of course attracts some unwanted sinister behaviour slash attention in the form of fully clothed weirdos in nylon parkas who lurk in the shadier patches with zoom lens camera in hand and who-knows what on their mind (or in the other hand for that matter!).

On the upside (I will always endeavor to find one) at least all this nudity helps me with distinguishing the change in seasons. There is this man who lives in the apartment opposite me, I call him naked man, as he often is in the warmer months. Without him I may never have registered the arrival of spring. Having been so busy at work recently that I practically ceased to exist and having lost track of both the day and the month I had failed to notice the shift in weather. I looked out my kitchen window on a sunny morning and there was naked man in all his glory lounging amongst white draperies on his balcony—AH! Spring.

Naked man acts as my living breathing human weather report, which is convenient, as I have no time to watch the news. A quick look out the window is all I need to determine the day ahead, for example—

Naked man present on balcony splayed on turkish rugs, face to sunshine like some strange large flesh coloured bloom, hot day ahead 30 degrees or more.

Naked man on balcony in armchair-white linen cocoon smoking a cigarette, warm day expected, mid to high 20's

Naked man present inside balcony doorway basking in sunshine in catlike manner, mild sunny weather, low 20's

Naked man dressed, cooler day, take a cardigan.

Naked man absent but bottle of wine or other random food/beverage item chilling on balcony, no sunshine expected, take coat and possibly umbrella.

So today being slightly overcast veering towards depressing, naked man is unaccounted for. I guess this means I can go frolic in the park undisturbed and of course fully clothed.

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