“My wife was afraid of the dark… then she saw me naked and now she’s afraid of the light.”
Rodney Dangerfield
So in 2006, my wife and I decide we’re gonna go to Germany.
Munich.
Because we’re cultured people. My wife had been to Epcot, so between that and my love of pretzels, we basically spoke fluent German.
We’re ready for pretzels, beer, maybe a guy in lederhosen playing a tuba—you know, all the greatest hits.
What we’re not ready for… is a park full of naked people.
Yeah. Just… fully committed to nature.
Like, the kind of confidence I didn’t even have at my own wedding.
We’re walking through this park—beautiful day, birds chirping—and I start to notice:
“Man, Germans really love… short shorts.”
Then I realize—no, no shorts. Just short.
Like, nothing.
There’s this guy—I name him Mr. Gerhardt, because obviously—sitting on a towel reading the newspaper. Which is… wild.
Because that’s a man who believes deeply in the power of SPF and the written word.
My wife’s staring straight ahead, refusing to look anywhere.
She’s like, “Just keep walking. Don’t make eye contact.”
I’m like, “With who? All of them? There’s like forty of ‘em! I’m basically in the eye contact.”
We walk a little farther and it’s not just one guy. It’s everyone.
There’s a group playing chess—which, I guess, is great for your poker face.
In America, that game ends with a handshake. In Germany, you don’t even want to know what happens after checkmate.
Then there’s a guy on a bicycle. Completely naked.
I nudge my wife and go, “Lance Barestrong.”
She gives me this look—like she’s deciding if this marriage still has potential.
Then she laughs anyway, because she’s a saint. A patient, deeply disappointed saint.
And they’re all just… fine. Like, so casual about it.
Meanwhile, my American brain is short-circuiting.
In America, you tan your arms and hope for the best. In Munich, they’re like, “No, we’re doing the whole project.”
So we finally leave the park and find a little café, trying to recover.
And I tell the waiter, “Hey, uh… we just came from the nude park.”
He goes, “Ah, yes. Very nice day for it.”
Like I just said we went to Target.
That’s when I realized—that’s the difference.
In America, if someone’s naked in a park, you call somebody.
In Germany, they’re just like, “Oh, good for him. Getting some sun.”
And honestly? They looked happier than the rest of us.
Meanwhile, I’m still learning to be that comfortable in my own skin—
which, for now, stays mostly under a T-shirt.
