What’s that tickle in our collective noses? Could it be…allergy season? Yes: a glance at the calendar confirms it, the days get an hour longer this Sunday, and suddenly warm weather isn’t a freak occurrence, it’s something we can start expecting as our due.
But for now it still has a whiff of the special treat about it, so when the weatherfolk said it would hit the 70s this week — Fahrenheit, kids…the real 70s! — we all breathed a collective sigh and made a beeline for the park.
It’s that wonderful season where some people still have down parkas on and others not so much. Count us in the ‘not so much’ brigade. It feels so good to get those layers off, and not stop until there’s nothing left to get off.
Helping set the tone, we came bearing waffles from the nearest Wafels & Dinges truck, books ranging from the latest Quarry hit-man fare to Murakami, Eggers, Eco, Palahniuk, and Sapphire,
…and a bevy of picture-taking devices, including a Hasselblad with an instant-film back that yielded photos like these:
We weren’t the only ones who brought cameras to the park, of course. There was this fellow who was hiding behind a tree until he saw that, hey, we had cameras too, and we could point ours at him just as easily as he could point his at us. Wait — where are you going…?
And then there was this guy, who agreed that turnabout was fair play.
On the positive side, there was this woman from the UK who was working on a research project on body image and did things the right way (i.e., asked first):
But mostly people left us to our devices, and just enjoyed the day in their own fashion. It really couldn’t have been a nicer one. We were left with big smiles on our faces and hunger for more.
How about you? Would you like to be part of our grand adventure in body freedom? We welcome all bold, book-loving women in the New York area, whether residents or visitors, old hands at this sort of thing or first-timers whose boobs have never seen the sun. Picture Uncle Sam sticking his forefinger out of the screen and saying We Want You!, only it’s Aunt Sam and she’s not wearing a shirt. Or, you know, whatever it takes to get you to send us an email. The address is firstname.lastname@example.org. Operators are standing by.