A first for everything

When I was in High School I waitressed at a cowboy themed dinner theater. It was great fun. We wore short denim skirts, ruffled aprons and bandannas. As my own personal touch, I always sported big hair. I love me some big hair. I’ve got a good story about that but I’ll save it for another time.
Anyway, one night there was a rumpus caused when a van that was, I believe, normally parked down by the river showed up in the back of the parking lot. During the course of the evening the man who owned the van was seen out side his van naked as a jaybird. I believe he was hanging out laundry on a near by fence, but I am very likely mistaken. I didn’t personally see anything other that the van.
The manager, upon hearing of this stormed right out and confronted the bear-skinned van dweller about the poor choice he’d made in selecting her parking lot to relocate to. She found it her duty to protect us girls from horrors of male nudity though, bless her, she was a spinster herself.
I counted it a blessing that I escaped the sight of the nude hippy. I guess I should have known that someday, fate would make up for that.
This evening we were driving as a family, on our way to my brother in law’s house for Sunday dinner. We were stopped at a red light when a motorcycle approached from the other direction and turned right.
Something about the motorcycle and it’s driver seemed off to me so I turned my attention to them more fully. It took a second for me to realize what I was seeing.
The driver was a naked man with a well established line distinguishing the tan of his torso and arms from the white of his buttock and legs. On his lap were a pair of neatly folded jeans. THANK HEAVEN FOR THOSE NEATLY FOLDED JEANS!
Incapable of words, I said nothing as I raised my hand and pointed at the motorcycle riding exhibitionist speeding away.
“Was he naked?” asked The Mr.
“Yes” I said, yes he was.

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