The first random comment from a dude I received was surprisingly respectful. “You look nice!” one of the horse-drawn carriage drivers said, “God bless you!” I waved at him. Another one stopped so I could pet his horse. (Which seemed a little annoyed…perhaps it had had a conservative upbringing). Equestrian gentlemen of Central Park, I salute you.
At this point, I was starting to feel pretty confident. Everyone loves a weirdo with no shirt! And/or ignores her! Oh, the hubris. It was then that I heard the whir of a golf cart behind me. “Miss! Miss! Miss!” someone was saying. I turned around. It was a park employee.
“I know you’re doing your thing or whatever, but there are kids around and I don’t think this is appropriate,” she said.
“Why not?” I asked, curious.
“It should be their decision whether or not they see…that.”
“But kids drink out of boobs. That’s what they’re for.”
“I know, I know, I’m just saying.” She looked like she was about to crack up. Boobs make everything funnier. “I’m just saying,” she repeated again, and was gone. Okay then.
As I continued on my merry way (avoiding the playground), I noticed something: as good as it felt to be topless in the great outdoors, I had more under-boob sweat than usual. I might’ve been sweating a little extra because I was nervous, but I’m pretty sure absorbent cotton clothes are better than being totally topless if you’re concerned about boob sweat. The more you know.