Men love to be naked.  I can’t confirm how far back this concept dates, but I am willing to wager that Adam lifted up that fig leaf and gave Eve ‘The Helicopter’ ** on the regular.  If you were blessed with a baby boy, you know this starts at birth.  They can barely walk when they discover the giblets between their legs, and from that moment on, your life is a permanent peep show.

One mom I know keeps an emergency blanket in her purse, in case her kid drops trou in the middle of Target.  It’s a beautiful Burberry plaid, probably to make up for the spectacle occurring in Aisle 12.  Almost as though she is pleading, “Look! We are wealthy, well-adjusted people and I don’t know why my child is a naked social deviant!” as she whips out the blanket and tackles her son to the ground, much like a firefighter would if your entire body was ablaze in a 5-alarm sh*tshow.

This phenomenon continues throughout the male existence.  In middle school, while girls are mastering the art of putting on their gym clothes without first removing their school clothes, the boys are lined up at the bathroom trough, trying to see who can pee the farthest.  (Sidenote: I guarantee I can ask any adult woman to change outfits from head to toe, and she could do it in a crowded arena without showing so much as a shoulder blade.)

Somehow, the naked obsession gets worse in adulthood.  I blame college.  There is a brief ceasefire on the Naked War during the college years, when women are au naturel just as much as men.  A friend of mine once got arrested while doing competitive sprints with a guy on the main road of campus.  In a thong.  At midnight.  (Ten points for anyone who guessed that the male cop did not have a Burberry blanket to throw on her.)

Ladies, we need to take control of this during the giblet stage.  While we are in the trenches explaining Netflix and Chill to our sons, we should include a heart to heart on why you don’t cut the grass in your boxers.  And maybe let them know that when a woman says the words “I’m in the mood for…,” there is no need for her husband to whip his clothes off in one blink-and-you-miss-it motion (seriously, this must be the move they practice while we are learning that knock-kneed thing you do at the gynecologist), because she will probably finish that sentence with “… pizza.”

Every man thinks he looks like The Rock with his shirt off, and I blame us Moms who obsess over their sons å la Beverly Goldberg.  FYI:  If my husband really did look like The Rock, I would make him stand naked in the driveway so that every woman on my street could line up and take turns licking his abs.  (What?  It’s a public service.)

**If you have been spared this assault on your eyeballs thus far, I assume you are a lucky, lucky lesbian.

© Calling All Cool Moms 2017

For years, my husband has cut the grass with no shirt on, and for years, I have told the neighbors he is a homeless man who cuts our grass as part of a rehabilitation program.

Amanda L.

I once caught my husband on a conference call in his underwear. When I asked why, he told me that he was “smarter without pants.”

Janice B.