My roommates and I moved a fridge last night and felt very proud of ourselves. Our landlords were getting rid of their fridge and gave it to us (since it wasn’t really very old), but only had the moving guys bring it up to our sunroom. So one door-removed-from-the-hinges-to-fit-the-fringe-through-later, we have a shiny, huge new fridge. That isn’t really relevant to this post, other than I’m excited about it and the fridge-moving immediately preceded a conversation I had with my two roommates about being topless.
Our apartment has central heat and air, but we try not to overly rely on them in the interests of keeping our energy costs low. So there’s usually a few weeks of the summer where, with fans on and windows open, the apartment is livable, even though it gets pretty hot when you try to go to sleep. We had one of those evenings a few weeks ago (yes, in Chicago it can go from being almost 90 to barely 50 in the span of a week) and I ended up sleeping topless. Which made me come to the conclusion that I should be allowed to be topless in my own apartment.
I am not a stranger to discussing and thinking about toplessness, but this is the first time I have made a concrete decision about a specific space in my life where I think I should be allowed to be topless. I actually realized that being topless would make me feel good, both physically and emotionally. (Insert comments about exhibitionism here, if you must.) I’d talked with one of my roommates about this that very hot weekend, and she said that she wouldn’t be joining me, but didn’t care if I bared my boobs. Last night, I asked my other roommate if he was OK with me being topless in the apartment
He said ‘no.’