For anyone keeping count, Demon Baby hasn't worn clothes indoors since sometime in July. Not a stitch. Not at bedtime. Not at breakfast. Not when company comes. Leaving the house involves setting at least a half hour for wrestling him into clothes, and he doesn't leave them on when he gets home.
As the Demon Madonna, I tried to take a laissez-faire approach to his nakedness. After all, I reasoned, soon enough it would be winter. It would be cold . . . and clothes would win out as the rational approach. He would see "the light."
As weeks turned to months, as the leaves turned colors, he has shown no sign of relenting in his quest for 24/7 nakedness. I have tried lowering the A/C to 65 to "freeze him out." I have tried opening the windows when it is 32 degrees out.
None of these approaches have worked. His reaction to Operation Freeze is to go find something to wrap himself in, and to walk around naked, but bundled up. One might think he would choose baby blankets or quilts to wrap himself in. But that is the choice for ordinary mortals. This morning, I found him wearing my sweatpants as a cape.
I find myself, often, puzzling what will this little Demon become. His worldview is so unusual. As my mother puts it, based on the movie and book of the same name, he is my "Martian Child." His new favorite activity is to climb in the bathtub. naked, with no water in it, and play with shaving cream. He likes to "wear" a layer of shaving cream, which maybe to him feels like clothes. I don't know.
I do know this . . . Freeze-Out methods have failed. Talks with Management have completely broken down. I am trying to break the Naked Union, but . . . to no avail.
I need to get more creative.
In the meantime, here it is close to Thanksgiving, and my house is colder than an icebox. He's naked. I'M suffering. My lips are blue.
Naked Strike, The Winter Months.
If I was a playwright, instead of a novelist, I would call it The Naked Monologues.