My friends have seen me naked. NO I’M NOT OVER IT. I wish I could go through their memories with steel wool.
On the plus side, I have now been to Spa Castle.
Over the five or so hours I was under-clothed, I was treated with complete respect; over the next twenty-four hours of my regular life, ironically, I was sexually harassed once and hit on twice. Which is to blame: the lingering glow of relaxation, or the patriarchy?
EDITED TO ADD:
Shots of the coupliest New Years Eve ever are now up on Flickr. Although here it looks like I am being attacked, rest assured that those hands belong to people I love.
It may just be warmer in New York. My first sign of spring in DC is not the robin's red breast but the spike in sexual harrassment I receive courtesy of my friendly neighbors.
-V-