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In what I consider to be THE most groundbreaking story of the year, trumping TomKat, Britney and K-Fed, Reese and Ryan and yes, even Madonna’s adoption…

I have recently discovered something about myself that I never knew was possible. To put it bluntly, I am now a naked sleeper.

Shocked? So am I. In real life, I am what is known as a “prude.” Prudes shun nudity in any shape or form. To put this into perspective, it took me like 6 months to wear something other than a one piece bathing suit when I worked at Club Med. And it wasn’t because I thought I would look fat or anything like that. It was purely because in my prudish mind, only whores wore bikinis… Granted all of my friends wore bikinis but I considered them whores, ever last one of them. I broke down eventually because believe it or not, it is possible to be too hot wearing a one piece bathing suit. If anyone has ever experienced Mexico in the middle of summer, this might make sense. So eventually I broke down and got myself some two-pieced numbers and never looked back. Sufficed to say that I quickly changed my opinion that only whores wore bikinis… I may be a floozy at times, but I am no whore…

But still, nudity made me uncomfortable. And of course the Universe has always thought it would be freaking hilarious to consistently throw naked-loving boyfriends my way. It’s true… my memory cannot come up with one single one, short or long-term, who was not more comfortable in their altogether. I am convinced that even the former-PNB was a closet nudist and only put clothes on for my benefit… To the fly on the wall we must have looked like an odd couple indeed when heading to bed… him naked as a jay bird and me wearing as much clothing as humanly possible short of a winter coat and a toque.

But that was then. And this is now.

Now happened a couple of weeks ago when, after gracefully returning to my abode after an evening of having some leisurely drinks with friends, I was just tired too find my pajamas. Feel free to read “too tired” as “too drunk” because that may or may not have been the case… but whatever. So too “tired” I was and to sleep I went. Feel free to read “to sleep” as “passed out” because that may or may not have been the case…. but whatever. The POINT I am trying to make has nothing whatsoever to do with the amount of alcohol that may or may not have been consumed but rather the end result of having (or not) consumed (or not) large quantities of booze (or not) which was that due to the fact that I may have possibly (or not) been too tired to find my bed clothes that I was forced to sleep (or pass out) in my birthday suit. Or not.

And? So?

Well, it turns out that sleeping starkers is quite the way to go. I can’t remember having been so comfortable lying between the sheets. I’m not hot, nor am I cold but more importantly there is nothing there to get bunched up, if you get my drift. I never realized that I spent a goodly portion of my night fidgeting with my pajama pants which always twisted and bunched up as I flopped around in my restlessness. Was this the sole reason behind my lifelong propensity for insomnia? Well, no, of course not, but I would be lying that even removing just one factor out of the equation has led to more than a few slightly more restful nights than usual. Something to be celebrated to be sure!

Anyway, I just thought that I would share that with you… You know, being pretty much the most earth-shattering news ever to have come from Humankind, ever, in the history of this planet we call Earth.