The French nudist

One thing that I was not prepared for when beginning to date my charming Frenchman was that he would much rather be naked than clothed - keep in mind, I grew up in the midwest and was very modest - oh yeah, and my dad is a preacher, which doesn't help in the modesty department either! He was so proud of his "Frenchness" and would parade around the apartment completely nude in all his French glory! He did not mind if the windows were open, the blinds pulled up, or the lights on in our apartment when it was pitch black outside....like he was on the big screen.

In the beginning, this was not much of a problem, in fact...I thought I had hit the jackpot! It wasn't until the fact that his desire to be naked was not just confined to the two of us in the privacy of our own place. After a few years, we moved to our own apartment, which is a one bedroom where the only way to reach the bathroom is to walk through our bedroom. I thought that he would tone down the nudist colony when we had guests come visit....WRONG! His stance on this was that is was HIS house, and he should be allowed to parade around naked if he wanted to. I tried to make him understand that it would make our guests feel very uncomfortable, and he responded with "well, I don't feel uncomfortable, so it's their problem if they are feeling that way".

This, ladies, is yet another reason these Frenchies are CRAZY, and endearing (most days) :)

Bisou,
Rachel

Note from Vivi:
Over the years I have become so accustomed to the Naked Frenchman that until I read Rach’s post, I kind of forgot it wasn’t normal having a half naked (and sometimes fully naked) frenchie walking around the house. However, early on witnessing a Frenchman in his natural habitat was EXTREMELY alarming. As previously discussed I too was a blissfully naïve Midwestern girl prior to my marriage to France, I mean, Sebastien.
My dad wasn’t a preacher but he did serve on the church Board of Directors for most of my childhood and teenage years. We were taught modesty was essential to maintaining our honor…lack of clothing was not an option. The people in my world growing up took the “keep your clothes on” mentality to a whole new level. For example, each summer I went to church camp. I remember the older we got, the more clothing we were required to wear in the swimming pool. By the time I hit high school we were forced to wear t-shirts over our ONE piece bathing suits. The only thing we were allowed to show were our wrists and ankles and even that was to be done with discretion. Thus, marrying a happy naked French person was shocking to say the least!
Without fail each day Sebastien comes home from work he walks in the door says hello, gives me a kiss, and then heads straight to his closet. Once inside the closet he promptly removes all of his clothes and proceeds with the rest of his evening...naked…always with the nakedness!
Further to the point, I have found this naked behavior is not learned. OH NO, it is genetic. Many mornings while visiting maman et papa I have arrived at the breakfast table to see all the male members of the family scantily clad—usually just a pair of shorts or pants on. Now, being that we have to sit at the table for at least an hour (on a good day) one might think a shirt would be of vital importance. You know, as to not to offend (or gross out) the other breakfast guests. Mais non, I do not think this has ever crossed the minds of the Frenchmen in our family. Now, I am not sure if any of you have seen a Frenchman in all their semi-naked breakfast glory but being an American, this is not something that is easy to handle prior to my morning Starbucks. On days like this, I usually sit at the table (once again “pretending to be a chair”) staring off into the distance, I go to the happy place in my head. I have wild thoughts such as, how is it possible for one man to have so much chest hair? Then I turn to my husband sitting innocently with his happy “my maman is making me warm toasty croissants and coffee with sugar cubes” grin on his face, and think, seriously, how does one body have so much hair on it? Then, in utter amazement it hits me once again “where are their clothes?”
In the five years we have been together rarely does a guest arrive when Sebastien has a shirt on. Whenever I say “So-and-so is on her way over, would you put on some clothes?” His response without fail is “no, I’m ok”. As if I am asking him to cover up so HE won’t be embarrassed! I sweetly remind him “baby, sometimes American women find it uncomfortable to see other women’s husband’s in their underwear.” To which he says, “I undastaaand, but deece is my ouse. Maybe you should go to eer ouse next time.” (Purposely leaving the “h” out of each word containing one because the French do not pronounce the “h”—the “missing H” is another topic for another day.) As I leave the room, I use the few words in French I know (the ones I am not allowed to say around maman et papa). I shut the door and laugh to myself at the craziness that is a part of each day of my life now that I am married to this (CRAZY) wonderful man!

bisou,
Vivi