I had escaped the west-facing heat of my bedroom to the constant cool of the basement to find sleep.  When I climbed the stairs and passed Mom’s bedroom at 8 a.m. the next morning, a Sunday, she was trudging across her room, in the nude.  Seeing me suddenly, she started and tensed up and covered, but had nowhere to hide, and I walked past, pretended I hadn’t seen her.  Several minutes later, all dressed for church, I attempted to bring up the subject, hopefully without embarrassing her further.  “So, you were walking around your room naked this morning….”  She reddened a bit, and answered that she had been walking from the shower to her dresser for clean undergarments.  I wondered aloud if she might take her undergarments to the bathroom on her way to the shower (which is what she has always done, so far as I know), instead of on the way back.  “I guess I could do that,” she conceded, the idea a revelation.  “I didn’t think of that.”

(Image by Moondance from Pixabay)