Naked Mondays

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Remember when Christina Aguillera went on “Ellen” a few years ago and told America about her and her new husband’s quirky little ritual they coined “Naked Sundays”?

Apparently, at the end of every week, she and that darling Jason Bratman spent the entire day in the nude, cooking, cleaning and gardening. Well, the entire audience – mouths agape – was so focused on their nudity, that no one questioned the mega-millionaires’ “cooking, cleaning and gardening.”

As if.

No, she and her then-husband stayed in bed all day, like the rest of us did before kids, until they ordered a pizza for dinner and watched “Pulp Fiction” for the hundredth time.

We all have a little Christina Aguillera in us, in my opinion, and it’s time we embrace it. For example, I have naked days at my house, too – but on Mondays, not Sundays. Every week, my husband hosts a drawing group in a tucked away part of the house and employs a professional nude model who other local artists can draw, paint, or sculpt in an effort to refine their craft. Sometimes it’s a different woman every week.

Kinky? Perhaps. But, better her than me. Because, unlike Christina, I really do have better things to do with my time … like cooking, cleaning and gardening.

So what is the big deal with nudity, anyway? Why the mouths agape? Ever since Ellen’s show, I have felt compelled to “warn” kids’ parents about the nude paintings adorning our halls.

“No problem to drop Johnny off at three. FYI: He’s gonna see some boobs.”

Does this make me “one of those” parents, who wear hemp and have a compost bin?

Does it make me a Democrat?

It’s tough to say what’s going to set parents up for judgment these days. We’re either too much of a tiger, or not enough of one.  We either “fix” our kids’ dioramas, or allow them to humiliate themselves in an effort to learn tenacity the hard way.

There seems to be no middle ground these days. I’m either like you as a parent, or I’m not.

Which brings me back to Christina as our unifier, albeit a tad overly bronzed one. Because regardless of whether you turn the radio up whenever a song of hers comes on, or hurl yourself out the window the moment her belch-esque raspiness comes out of that speaker, who cares?

We should all be joining hands as one, if you ask me, lamenting the fact that most of us look terrible naked these days, anyway. Plus, what greater exposure is there than being a parent?

We’re all just genies in a bottle, as Christina sang so eloquently (in two languages, no less!). How else can you explain the magic of arriving to school on time, lunches in hand with teeth brushed?

You just gotta rub us the right way, baby, to come, come, come and let us out.

Cheers to the nudity that is parenting. Jiggly

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