“Well, like you said, I’m not XL.” He gave me a small smile, now—a forced one. The kind you give when you’re trying to claw your way out of a situation with a brave face.
I acknowledged his effort with a smile back. “I kind of meant that it was too small to cover me.”
“The point isnotto cover yourself, I think . . . if I’m understanding this whole nudity thing correctly,” he said.
“There’s nowhere to change.” Another excuse.
Mike pointed and I followed his finger.
“Oh. I see,” I grumbled. There, on the other side of the parking lot, was a building labeledChange Room. Lockers available.“They’ve thought of everything, haven’t they, the little nudists.”
“And, look, you can also rent chairs and towels there.” He pointed to another sign.
“Fancy that.” I was officially out of excuses.
“Do you really think those people on that beach are going to even look at you? Think about it. The safest, most non-judgmental place you can be naked would be on a nudist beach.”
“Um . . .” I was torn.
“How about this: I’ll go, and take pictures for you,” Mike started walking towards the change room.
“Are you seriously going?” I asked, walking after him.
“Yes,” he called over his shoulder.
I looked at the beach, then looked back at Mike striding towards the change room.
“FINE!” I shouted after him. “I’m coming.”
He laughed. Oh God—wrong word for the moment, Becca. Wrong word!
