I wrapped myself in layers to keep out the wind and the rain and the cold-hearted, to protect my delicate belly fur from brushing up against stinging bitches, to fend off hailstorms out of nowhere and guard against shark attacks, sermons, rabies, catcalls, and random acts of insomnia.

I outfoxed the bad and the maybe-bad and the looks-bad-from-here and the ba-a-ad bad bad I heard about from a guy who knows a guy, with my elaborately constructed fortress of guile, goose-down, faux fur, Real Housewives, rants, mantras, uplifting quotes, strategically-placed sarcasms, and a cotton-rayon shell with a touch of Spandex for movement.

Unfortunately it got hot in there and not a little smelly.

Which is how on one of your more tempting summer days I found myself unzipping a jacket just for a moment.

And after the toxic cloud of sour grief and withered possibilies and tears and rage and confusion was finally carried off by a kindly breeze I think I heard a bird. Or maybe it was the ocean. Or maybe it was a poem, finally whispering softly enough so I could hear her, "Off...take it all off."

That was weeks ago, or maybe months, or was it yesterday?

No matter. I am down to the last fourteen layers now, and peeling fast. Two sweaters forward, one t-shirt back.

With any luck, I will die completely naked.

xxx c

Image by Jason Hargrove via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.