I asked before we moved in. Apparently, we answered two different questions.
From Sam:
This new contributor brought up nudity before agreeing to share a home with another adult. The answer seemed clear enough at the time. Now they have a conversation scheduled for this evening, and neither seems to think they’re asking for anything new.
From Alex:
I was trying to get a piece of toast out of the toaster when my roommate asked me to put some clothes on.
Not because someone was coming over. Not because we were going anywhere. We were making breakfast.
I said, “You said you didn’t mind.”
Morgan put a mug down beside the kettle.
“I didn’t know you meant every morning.”
“It’s not every morning.”
That was my first contribution to sorting this out. Correcting the frequency.
I’m used to being naked at home. I lived alone before this, and unless I was cold or doing something that needed clothes, I generally didn’t bother. When Morgan and I started talking about getting a place together, I brought it up because I knew it wasn’t something to leave until moving day.
We’re both adults. We split the rent and bills. I wasn’t looking for someone to convert, and Morgan wasn’t looking to move into a nudist household. We were looking for a place we could afford.
Before we agreed to it, I said, “I’m naked at home quite a bit. Would that bother you?”
Morgan said, “No, that doesn’t bother me. Just put something on if I have people over.”
I said of course.
That was the conversation. I remember it because I was relieved afterward.
What I didn’t ask was whether “quite a bit” meant the same thing to both of us. We didn’t talk about rooms or times. I assumed I’d explained how I lived and been told it was okay.
Morgan apparently pictured occasionally passing me on the way to the bathroom.
I found that out with a knife in my hand and cold toast waiting to be buttered.
“I meant I’m not going to freak out if I see you,” Morgan said. “I didn’t mean I’d be having breakfast with you naked all the time.”
I said I wasn’t asking Morgan to do anything.
“I’m asking you to put something on.”
“Yes. That’s asking me to do something.”
Morgan stared at me for a second, then reached for the cupboard behind my shoulder.
“Can I get a plate?”
I moved.
We have a small kitchen. You can have an argument in it, but you still have to let the other person get breakfast.
Morgan said, “I don’t want to come in here and wonder if I should go away and come back.”
“You don’t have to go away.”
“I know I don’t have to. I don’t like it.”
And I said, “You could have mentioned you were this uptight before we signed.”
There’s the bit where I was an asshole.
Morgan stopped opening the bread bag.
“I told you what I thought. Now I’m telling you this isn’t working for me.”
I wanted to say the original answer wasn’t working for me anymore either, but even I could hear how that was going to sound.
I went and put on shorts. When I came back, Morgan had moved my toast onto a plate. I buttered it, ate standing at the counter, and didn’t say much.
Before leaving, Morgan asked if we could talk properly that evening.
I said yes.
I haven’t apologized for the uptight remark yet. I will. I was angry, but it was still a shitty thing to say. Now any request Morgan makes is going to feel like it might earn another insult, which hasn’t exactly improved our chances of having a useful conversation.
I’m still angry about the rest.
This wasn’t something I sprang on Morgan. I asked before either of us committed to the place. If the answer had been no, I’d have had a decision to make. I could have agreed to live differently or kept looking for another arrangement.
Instead I moved in believing we’d settled it.
For a while, I thought we had. We cooked, watched things in the living room, argued about whether the dishwasher was actually clean, and got on with it. Sometimes I was dressed, sometimes I wasn’t.
The requests started small. Could I put something on while we ate? Could I cover up if we were sitting together watching television?
I did, though I wasn’t particularly cheerful about it.
Then this morning it was while we were both making breakfast. Morgan wasn’t asking me to sit at the table. We weren’t doing anything together except using the same room.
That’s what worries me. I don’t know where the requests stop.
I already cover up for guests. If Morgan says someone’s coming, I get dressed. I don’t need to know whether the visitor would mind, and I don’t stand there making Morgan explain our arrangement to them.
This is different. We both need the kitchen. We both use the living room. I don’t want Morgan avoiding those rooms, but I don’t want my bedroom to become the only place I can relax the way I used to.
I can put on shorts. I did put on shorts. I know this isn’t physically difficult.
It also doesn’t feel like just a pair of shorts when I’ve already checked whether something would be a problem and been told it wouldn’t.
At the same time, I keep going back to “You said you didn’t mind,” and Morgan keeps saying that wasn’t what they meant. We can probably repeat that for the rest of the lease without getting any further.
The frustrating thing is that we’re mostly good at living together. Morgan pays their share on time, cleans up, and tells me before having people over. I’ve had worse arguments with people about dishes than this one, although the dishes arguments were easier to finish.
I don’t want a different roommate. I want to know what we’re actually agreeing to.
Would certain shared activities mean getting dressed? Would merely being in the same room mean it? If I’m making coffee and Morgan comes in, am I supposed to leave and change before finishing?
I’m not trying to write a list of loopholes. I need enough detail that tomorrow morning doesn’t become another version of this morning.
I’ve written “apologize” at the top of a page for tonight.
Underneath it: “What happens when we both want breakfast?”
Next: Fatphobia in Nudist Spaces. Coming November 9.
