I like to sit on my deck in the nude on a warm, sunny day. Nothing wrong with this. It feels great and no one can see me except the Management and Zeus, although low-flying aircraft that circle overhead make me wonder sometimes. I hate having a "farmer's tan", so either get a complete tan or don't get one at all. On occasion, I will even venture out into the yard to check the garden donning nothing except a pair of Crocs. Pretty bold for an old guy, but I've earned the right. After all, it is not like I am strutting around naked in a national park or anything. This is MY property, and no one can see me from the road. But there is a potential glitch in the security of this activity.
A few times, I have even gone further from the house than my psychological tether normally allows. Once I crossed over the driveway and a little wooden bridge over a drainage ditch, and entered the forest 150 yards from the house, walking along a path I keep mowed there. On this particular occasion, I had taken the hand-set phone with me, thinking I would call one of my sons and brag how I am bird-watching in my birthday suit. They think I am half crazed anyway, so why not really give them something to talk about. It is always enjoyable to me when I can shock the younger generation, who thinks that senior citizens sit around and listen to polka music all day. But at that moment, I heard a very disturbing sound--a car was coming up the driveway, which is located between the house and me. The path to my pants was disrupted big time, but the flow of adrenaline was not.
The car drove up to the house, and three people got out. I saw clearly through my binoculars that it was some former students of mine, two females and a male. Ouch! What to do? Think MacGyver, think. The problem was that Robin did not know I had taken this little safari nude, so when she saw the students, I was sure she would just tell them I was in the woods and to go find me. I had only seconds to figure this out. I got it. I used the intercom feature on the phone (please do not be talking to your sister in Ohio), called my wife, and told her to take a pair of my pants and a shirt and to throw them down the basement stairs. I would explain later. Then, take the students onto the deck at the back of the house and keep them there until you see me.
I waited a couple of minutes for my wife to complete her assignment. As long as my wife did not do something dyslexic, like throw my clothes on the deck and take the students into the basement, I should be ok. I sneaked through the woods to the side of the house opposite the deck, avoiding thorny raspberry bushes at all costs, zipped into the basement, got dressed, and came upstairs as if I had been organizing my tools down there. Fortunately, Management had executed her instructions properly, and we lived happily ever after, although the students wondered why I appeared from the basement with a phone in one hand and binoculars around my neck. Since then, I don't take excursions around the property without, at least, wearing a pair of my Sean Johns.
