Obviously, not me …

“I’ll have to explain,” the woman said as she insisted on placing a garland around my neck. It wasn’t a garland, exactly, but a lanyard-like ring of cream-colored lace. “You see, this was a zipper from a favorite aunt’s sewing box. She was very fond of her fabrics.”

I was baffled, but she obviously appreciated my performance that night and the relationship between an artist – and someone who has been touched by the work cannot be slighted. So a mixture of gratitude, humility, and pride flowed through me as I bent slightly to accept her admittedly eccentric token.

On awakening the next morning after an uncommonly deep sleep, nothing in my room was in its place. To my horror, my closet was empty, as were the dresser drawers. At least I still had a selection of shoes. Mystified as to what might have transpired, I noticed an envelope addressed to me on my dressing table. I lifted it, inhaled gardenia, and carefully slit the fold. No one could have been here while I slept, could they? My husband was away on a business trip. The kids were off at camp. This was supposed to be time for myself, and appearing on stage was my one indulgence in celebrating myself.

The note reminded me of the garland and instructed me to once again place it around my neck. The front came down to my navel. The guidelines informed me I could zip it as low as I wanted, should I desire to be open to inspiration, or close it as tight if I desired more privacy. How strange, I thought, the flowery handwriting was telling me I did not need to wear anything else, the zipper would be more than sufficient. Actually, the words were more specific. They said I dare not wear anything else when I set out.

Well, I thought, I’m really in a pickle. I can’t go out like this, I’ll just have to stay put. On the other hand, I was also out of milk and coffee. I was thinking about calling my best friend, but she was on the phone first, saying she was going to be in the neighborhood and hoped to stop by. None of my excuses were working. At least she agreed to pick up a few necessaries.

When she arrived, I was wearing only the garland and a pair of flip-flops. “My, aren’t you being risque today,” she said as gave me a brief hug. “I never wear that so unzipped.”

“You really think so?”

“Oh, yes, you could be a bit more modest, a bit more of a tease.”

“There, that’s better. Why don’t you grab your purse and we’ll head to the mall?”

“But I’d need to get dressed,” I protested.

“Oh, no, you’re fine,” she assured me.

Reluctantly, I headed off with her.

Amazingly, nobody noticed I was totally naked apart from the yoke and my shoes. “My, what a lovely collar,” some murmured with approval.

“You shouldn’t bend over so far when it’s unzipped that far,” another counseled. “People can see a bit too much of your taa-taas.”

I couldn’t believe it, especially how free I felt, even on stage. Did nobody see anything but the collar? Well, they saw the skin within it and above it, but no more.

That, in turn, created its own forms of impropriety …