I Sleep Naked

Grab your puke buckets kids cause it's true.

I sleep naked.

Call it being sexually hopeful mixed with trying to be comfortable and add a dash of hating to wear clothes and walla! You’ve got a 35-year-old douche with back-hair his wife won’t shave for him who occasionally gets sweaty-ass syndrome when he’s nervous sleeping like a neurotic bear.

I remember in college when my roommate used to go home for the weekend I double and triple checked the door to make sure it was locked, slid out of my boxers, climbed into bed, and dozed off into slumber land with a huge stupid grin on my face.

When the wifey moved in with me I spent a few months being hesitant about revealing my love for sleeping naked.

“What if she thinks I’m gonna try and molest her in the middle of the night and gets all Lorena Bobbit on me?” I thought.

Shortly after, I dropped trou and never looked back.

Then we had kids.

When they were babies all was good. They had no idea at 2:16 a.m. as they screamed and cried while I changed their diaper and the wife dropped a boob in their mouth that daddy’s ding-a-ling was swinging free.

As wee toddlers they’d come in the bedroom but were too small to actually make the long-distance journey to the peak of the bed which gave me ample time to do a pillow tuck and cover.

Then…they got older.

This past weekend I woke-up and followed-through with my religious morning routine which encompasses time alone kidless and wifeless as they lay slumber above my head. A couple hours later as the wife came to life she said, “you really need to start wearing underwear when you sleep.”

I was all, “over my dead body woman!”

“Well, your daughter came into our bedroom last night and you were laying buck-naked on top of the sheets, on your back, with your entire package presented for the world and your daughter to see. And she saw… She saw it all.”

And that’s when it hit home. Sure there’s the occasional turn the corner while daddy’s getting out of the shower and see a split second of his pecker before the towel blocks the horror. There’s the walking in while daddy’s just finishing pulling up the undies and seeing a milla-second shot of his ass before boxer-briefs do their job.

But nothing. NOTHING. Is like the scaring of a young girl sleepily walking into her parents’ bedroom at 2 in the morning and finding her father counting sheep with his “sheers” laying flaccid for the world to see.

Well…I guess the only other worse scenario is if she caught her daddy actually using those “sheers” on mommy.

So chalk-up another long-loved comfort gone out the window. I now sleep clad in cotton and am none-to-happy about it.



Wanna See My Underwear?!

Work, walk a half mile, catch the train, 22-min. ride, walk .7 miles and I'm home. In the fridge there's a beer. Above the fridge there's wine. In-between both of those is a wife and two kids, one of which shouts:

"wanna see my underwear?"

Yeah....marinate on that for a minute world. Every man's dream is to walk in his front door to hear those words from his beautiful wife? Of course in that dream the words are also followed by a variety of other terrific adjectives, verbs, action words, etc....

But on this particular day....it was my 6-year-old son saying that lovely phrase.

My mind kicks into overdrive as I think:

• should I say no to teach him not to ask grown-ups if they want to see his skibbies?
• should I say "wha?" and keep walking quickly towards the mecca of alcohol?
• should I say "sure dude" and uncomfortably hope he's not about to show me some type of unbelievable stain, growth, or whatever...

I chose the latter. And he immediately dropped trow as I clenched and waited. And what did he show - boxer briefs.

"Just like you wear daddy!!!"

The little bastard was so happy to show me that he was wearing the same underwear as me. My heart shattered, I truly felt touched, and I gave the kid a hug.

It's the obscure, subtle things in life that pop out when you least expect it and make you feel like shit for yelling at the kid for not eating his breakfast, or potentially breaking his sister's arm. I felt like a role model for a split second. I imagined my fat-ass on the cover of GQ being oogled by dudes thinking "I'd get so much ass if I looked like that." But alas...it was because I wear the unique and privileged hat of father and in the mornings, put on undies that don't ride up, hold my boys just right, and to my son......look like rock star underwear.