My sister's have shiny stories of spontaneous bouts of nudity with their intrepid high-school girlfriends.  Tales of impulsive dips in Marl Lake or the freshly filled baptismal tank - yes, you read that right and no, I won't tell you which sister.  Or the story of the ditching of last class to go to the beach which somehow became a high-pitched, squealing 'bras only' affair.  And I am jealous.  Ridiculous, I know, but I feel like somehow I've missed an important piece of growing up by not experiencing this abandonment of all inhibitions, this thoughtless desertion of modesty.  JEALOUS spelled E-N-V-I-O-U-S!

It took me 29 years.
We had twenty-four hours without kids.  (In the parenting world that's like liquid gold.)  We attended a beautiful wedding on the beach.  I wore a dress cut down to there and he was appreciative (in a lustful, voulez-vous coucher avec moi? sort of way) and very generous with his compliments.  (It's criminal but I think it gets forgotten that beneath all this mom is a woman who's dying to be told that she's beautiful.)  The reception was beneath an open-sided tent, paths through the yard lit by tea lights in mason jars, twinkle lights in trees, tables at which to sample delicate hors d'oeuvres made with cucumbers and creamed cheese, jazz, reunions with people we hadn't seen in years, laughter over wine glasses - it didn't matter that mine only held water - I laughed as much as the rest of them.  We stayed until the end.

It was nearing 2 am when we pulled into our driveway.  The air was heavy with humidity.  We still had eight hours left.  "Let's go swimming!"
He laughed at first then realized I was serious.
Ten minutes later we were stumbling across the bridge at the middle dam.  It was a very dark night.  The water was black.  The silence was heavy, broken by our giggles as we abandoned shoes and towels and t-shirts on the lonely picnic table to venture into the river which can only be described as FREEZING!  It took our breath away.  We started in slowly, clinging to each others hands, doing a strange little hop against the cold until we decided to just go for it and we dove beneath the smooth surface and raced to the dock bobbing gently a little ways out.
Suits were abandoned on it's slimy surface - and immediately it was there - this freedom born in the Eden of the Saugeen River in the dead of the night in the heart of the summer.  Freedom in the minnow-infested cold water as it engulfed my goose bumps, unhindered by any garment.  Freedom spelled N-A-K-E-D.  


It took me 29 years.
I didn't get to do it with giggling girlfriends but he was tittering almost as much as a girl so I think it counts.  Stick me in your club, dear sisters, I finally understand all the hype.

And the best moment?  His skinny little bottom catching the moonlight as he ran up the beach to grab his towel.