I told Walt the story last night about running into the living room in my underwear to see the relatives soon after we moved to Florida. Kind of an Adam and Eve moment; I didn't know to be ashamed. Well, once Sandra and George began pointing and laughing, I knew. I guess I was six. Funny thing is, that would make George about four at the time and he knew.
A little mockery never hurt me. I'm nobody's martyr, nobody's victim. If you come to visit and I'm glad to see you, I may run into the room in my underwear. Or worse. I like the story better before the snake butt in.