‘A tale of balmier climes and steamier times’
No. There is no photographic evidence. (She said, breathing a sigh of relief.) But once upon a time, I did go topless. It was at a Club Med. A French Club Med, I feel compelled to add. And it was back in the ’80s, when people did things like that. Or at least did things like that when they went to a French Club Med.
I’m reminded of this story because we New Yorkers have been frozen fast during the Third Coldest February on Record. Now we’re well into the second week of March and the beach here still looks like this:
Indian Wells Beach last weekend. A March weekend, people. Snow castles, anyone?
Anyway, back to the ’80s. And Club Med. Whatever you may think of Club Med now (if you think of Club Med at all), Back Then it was considered quite the racy venue for a vacation.
At Club Med, money was forbidden (pop beads were used at the bar), mixing of guests and (sexy) staff was encouraged (a ‘crazy signs’ song, wacky precursor to the Macarena, was performed at random times by any and everyone) and clothes (or tops anyway) were optional.