Get Naked!

When I first got to Seattle, my uncle and his friend arranged for me to housesit for some friends. It would give me a chance to feel useful while looking for an apartment of my own. The soon-to-be vacationers invited us to get acquainted over dinner. They had a lovely house, surrounded by trees. The interior was pleasantly decorated with books and camping mementos. The wife was a gardener and the husband a philosopher, but he had intended to be a marine biologist before he discovered philosophy, so they were going to Central America to do a little scuba diving and underwater photography. In the summer, they hoped to go on a swimming tour of the islands off Croatia. The husband also loved cooking, and had prepared a hearty feast, homemade from organic ingredients. All in all, they were delightful people.

They decided that I was an acceptable housesitter, so the wife showed me around the house, pointing out the electrical box, water shut-off, and so on. As we went through the basement, I noticed a number of outdoor sports watercolors featuring mixed nudes. Then we got to the den, where there were stacks of signs begging us to protect nudist beaches. I started laughing because it fit so perfectly—the love of the natural life leads pretty easily into nudism in the Northwest (slogan “You can’t be too natural.”) The gradual dawning of the situation, beginning with subtle clues, made it all perfect.

While I was housesitting, I went downstairs to do laundry. There at the immediate right of the foot of the stairs and at eye level was a large, colorful painting of two very happy nude surfers. Across the top was the vivid legend “Get Naked!” Nothing could be less subtle, yet it had entirely escaped my notice. I looked around, trying to figure out if there had been a breach in the space-time continuum. There to the right of the painting was a short bookcase, overflowing with some of my favorite books. The Iliad, Emma, The Brothers Karamazov—it all came back to me. My gaze, originally bent on finding extra steps, had been attracted and held irresistibly by these gems in a suburban basement.

In my defense, I believe that I would have noticed a real live nekkid person, even if he were brightly painted and crouching on a ledge four feet from the floor. But to be on the safe side, if you need my undivided attention, get The Iliad, don’t get naked.