The Naked Dream

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Kaftan encased wobbly bits, while being attacked by a beach shelter.

I had the naked dream again last night. This time, I was naked on the beach and had to walk the 2 blocks back to Jabba the Hutt to get some clothes. The local Rural Fire truck pulled up alongside me and asked if I wanted a lift.

The whole thing was horrifying! Why do I always find myself sans pants in my sleep? Is it some sort of sign?

The other day I was watching the beacon of intellectual substance that is A Current Affair (or Today Tonight… same same) and there was a story on how we, as a country, were turning into a pack of slobs when it comes to our attire. The notion of Sunday Best had well and truly flown the coop, with the Catholic Church complaining about the outfits that some of the folk wear for service.

I personally think the the Catholic Church should be grateful for all who turn up these days, in thongs or not!

There is nowhere more evident than our relaxed style than the beach. You are anonymous at the beach and I wobble around in my black one piece with not a care in the world. I don’t even bother to try and suck in my guts, because, and if I can be honest here, it makes no difference.

I fully embrace the kaftan, of which¬†recently, an Australian designer declared…

“That I think is kind of women’s way of just covering up. I think it’s better to look at your health and get your body in shape,”¬†

To which I myself, declared…

“Oh just fuck right off….”

Every had the Naked Dream?

What is your Sunday Best?