I wear my sunglasses at night **

So, as an American, there is this thing here in the land of sausage with which I’m not so comfortable. It’s called Free Body Culture or FKK in Deutsch. This is the practice of nudity in bathing areas such as lakes, rivers, streams and locker rooms. I found out about it when Markus tried to use FKK as a justification for showering with Leo at his previous gym after I found out that Leo was actually Leonie, female and extremely hot.

As Americans, we grow up in a clothed culture. Boobs are gratuitous, but they usually have small triangles of cloth over the nipple. Why this matters, I don’t know. We have small triangles covering the denuded front panel of the coochie and string up the butt, but the women are not naked.

Men are rarely naked in public, ever, in America. We associate naked men with streakers or flashing perverts. Or occasionally Brad Pitt or Will Smith. Here in Europe, this is not the case. People are naked everywhere. On the beaches in Italy, women walked topless, in heels, on the boardwalk. Men, who had never been on a swim team, wore Speedos with pride. Bodies were not as perfect as the beach bunnies of LA or FLA. Yet all these people walked around confident in their cellulite and Chianti bellies. Most Americans I know say that they would rather have their kids see nudity or sex over violence. Then why is it practiced so rarely?

I can tell you. It’s Mr. Droopy and the Pips. The doodles are the reason we are all clothed at the beach. It has nothing to do with cellulite or fat rolls or saggy tits. Well, it might have to do with saggy tits, but more so with the doodles.

Last summer, Markus and I hit one of his favorite lakes in the area to cool off from the staggering heat. Oh My God. Forward all mail to: Willies, NekkidStadt, FKKland. Everywhere, there were families hanging out, and I do mean hanging out, naked. Fathers and sons were jumping off rafts and rocks, doodles flying everywhere. I’ve never seen so many penises in my life and let me tell you, that’s sayin’ something.

As a woman, I will never truly understand the john thomas. It just sits there, like an afterthought. “Oh yeah, we made that nice vagina but we forgot the other part. Here, stick this on and pretend you know how to use it.”

In fact, it was discovered in the scrolls at Nag Hamidi, that it wasn’t because Eve ate the apple that they were thrown out of the garden. It was the presence of Adam’s one eyed-monster. Cover up indeed. Don’t scare the animals. The little pope was God’s first failure.

Doodles are just unappealing. I mean, yes, there are some nice ones, but when Mr. Sad Sack is just hanging around, the appendage itself is rather unfortunate looking. It certainly doesn’t make me want to get to know it any better. And I’ve been a friend of the schwanz for years.

I really don’t mind women naked at the beach. It’s still unnerving on some level, but I can understand the advantage of swimming topless. It’s not often the twins get a lift. In the water, my boobs could pass for those of a young sexy water nymph. In the water, I’m Hugh Hefner material. Out of the water it’s a completely different story. But men don’t even get that benefit. Mr. Droopy shrinks back into the body as if he’s ashamed. And he should be.

Germans seem so proud of their packages. I guess having fought with France for centuries, they found one area of superiority and therefore want to show it off. It explains why they wear such tight jeans. Markus seems to think that penis size has a direct correlation to confidence. The bigger the schwanz, the bigger the ego. Did I mention I married a narcissist?

So word to the wise, if traveling in Germany and you want to go swimming, wear sunglasses. You might lose an eye.