by Donald Hubbard
Naked Day originated as a reaction to excessive public nudity and love-making in Hale, Connecticut.
Citizens urinating in public, teenagers mooning the constable, couples copulating behind the Little League dugouts, nudists weeding their tomato gardens, farm animals mating without the slightest nod to propriety.
Rather than endure 365 days each year of the potential of chancing across a bit of flesh or PDAs, the town enacted ordinance 234Sw, commonly known as the ‘Nudie Law’, restricting public nudity and displays of over-affection to one day each year, August 15.
As part of the enabling legislation, money was set aside in the budget to pick up school aged children at 6:00 a.m. on that day and bus them to an auditorium with the windows blacked out to protect their sensibilities, while some of the elderly and easily offended obtained vouchers and bus passes to visit Holy Land in Waterbury.
Freaky people immediately loved the concept, strolling around, enjoying free love on the village green and playing tennis. Bashful folks started off more conservatively, taking showers without wearing a bathing cap or sitting in their rooms au naturel all day solving the New York Times crossword puzzle. Moderates walked to their mailboxes or changed their clothes with their windows open.
Others protested, bundling up in several layers of wool, donning ski caps and galoshes. Though in particularly hot years, they too stripped down.
Traditionally, Catholic children were born nine months after one of their parents’ birth days, when the ‘Rhythm System’ of contraception temporarily was thrown, like caution, to the wind. After Naked Day began, Hale experienced a sharp up-tick in births around February 15.
God finally put a stop to Naked Day, primarily because while many conceptions occurred on that date, so did many traffic accidents as tourists rolled into town to view the nudists, only to drive off the side of the road due to inattention. But mostly God banned Naked Day because frankly too many of the townspeople flattered themselves, out of shape and richly deserving of a new burka to hide their imperfections. Gave Eden a bad name.
The Town Selectmen bristled, citing separation of church and state, so they drafted up a compromise, keeping Naked Day and restricting it to February 28, a day deemed too cold for its citizens to safely walk outside in a state of nature.
Unfortunately, with the elimination of the freedoms enjoyed on Naked Day, incidents of drunkards and non-conformists showing too much skin throughout the year increased.
Folks missed hanging out with their friends on the porch, unfettered by convention, sucking down Miller Lites, or working the outside grill, flipping burgers and dogs while not feeling overheated. So spontaneously one year the townspeople met at the Village Green, removed their clothing, and embarked on a parade around town. Prayerful people prayed for a plague, and God answered their petitions, unleashing a gigantic hail storm upon Hale until people regained their wits.
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Donald Hubbard has written six books, one profiled on Regis & Kelly and another a Boston Globe bestseller and Amazon category bestseller. His stories published/scheduled for publication include those in Notre Dame Magazine, Funny in 500, Quail Bell, Praxis, 101 Word Story, Flash Fiction Magazine, Crack the Spine, Dime Show Review, The Miscreant (upcoming) and Oddville Press.