An Irish Raisin in the Sun

Literature professors always whine on ad nauseam " Write about what you know" and I apply the same logic to my drawings.
I have not, and probably will never visit a nudist colony. Ping pong, tennis and calisthenics require support lest they become ridiculous. Breakfast, lunch and dinner should whet your palette, not induce gag reflexes.
Clothes are important.
I am however completely comfortable with nudity on beaches. The sun blinds me to my Catholic shame of original sin, the surf washes away any impure thoughts and gentle breezes shroud my physical flaws.
I wish Americans could deal with nudity on a mature level but it will never happen in my lifetime.
I am sorry I dropped the C word bomb in my last post so cavalierly, I had no idea that some of you people out there cared enough to actually take the time to email me.
The fact is the Pope read my blog and gave me skin cancer, stage three. Surgeons dug in deep and removed all of it, it had not yet spread to my lymph nodes. I am fine. I am however flooded with bills that my lame insurance company refuses to pay without a fight.
I will not be sunbathing ever again without wearing a burka but will gladly accept all invitations to a midnight skinny dip in your pool.
I once foolishly swam alone during a thunderstorm in something called a black swimming pool in South Hampton. I stripped off my dinner clothes and dove to the bottom where I turned and looked up to admire all the enormous beads of rain dancing in the lightening on the water's surface and knew at that moment I could die happy.
The moral of this story is that nudity is OK if you are not Catholic and that you should always use sunscreen or swim only at night, especially if you are a pasty white Irish/Scottish underinsured person such as myself.
This drawing was not commissioned by any publication, it was scanned from my sketch book, I used sea water to dilute my watercolors.