The Column: 'Naturist' resorts, naked dining don't tempt yours truly

Any thoughts on nudity?

OK, I’ll go first.

As an older person who wears long sleeves in summer, considers shorts most suitable for alpine yodelers and thinks men who exhibit hay bales of chest hair guilty of disorderly conduct, I will not be relaxing this summer at a “naturist” resort welcoming senior citizens though such accommodations exist.

“Nudity is not just for the young and perky,” says the website of CarePathways, a private agency that helps families find assistance for older relatives. If “Grandma and Grandpa want to retire their clothing” after years of hard work plenty of “naked destinations” await.

Cruises, festivals, weddings — adventures are endless for the unclothed, young and old.

In Pennsylvania, there is a nude Pickleball tournament. The World Naked Bike Ride came to Portland, Oregon. Until the local police chief stepped in, streakers raced through Boulder, Colorado, on Halloween wearing nothing but pumpkins on their heads.

Upscale, naked dining recently caught the eye of The New York Times, which reported on an $88 communal vegan meal — carrot and ginger soup; quinoa-stuffed bell peppers — attended only by women and arranged by an artist who promised “a liberating space that celebrates our most pure selves, through plant-based cooking, art, nudity, & self-love.”

Friends, I’m as much for liberation as the next guy, but what if one guest drops a steaming stuffed pepper on an unsuspecting, self-loving neighbor? Legal papers might be served before the cacao raspberry avocado mousse dessert.

Not for me.

I was a shy and roundish fellow growing up, an ample youngster owing to Mom’s generous, working-class notions of how a boy should eat and the regular arrival in our kitchen of Ebinger’s chocolate layer cake, that irresistible Brooklyn favorite.

Throughout childhood I was directed to the “husky” department, where Mom made selections on my behalf as I waited in dread for the salesperson to say, “Okey dokey, let’s have him try something on.”

Behind the dressing room curtain, I struggled with a new pair of corduroys and hoped the employee would not peek in the cubicle — “How we doing, sonny?” — to determine if the waist was too “snug” or seat had to be “let out,” as often was the case.

Only a stop at Nedick’s for a hot dog and orange drink on the way back to Bay Ridge could salve this much psychic torment.

In teenage years, pounds disappeared by some metabolic magic, and, while not exactly Charles Atlas, I celebrated one summer with a chartreuse bathing suit featuring — imagine this — slits on the side and wore it to Coney Island.

I will not claim that a riot ensued but approval was, em, tepid.

“Gotta’ be kidding,” said a pal.

“That even legal?” asked another.

“Get dressed — quick,” advised a third.

I covered up, forever set the bathing suit aside and immediately returned to a policy of cautious concealment.

The question is — how much do we want to reveal, body and soul?

In a way, I admire people who can show themselves to the world without worry.

And I wonder if the folks playing nude Pickleball or eating carrot soup with naked strangers are more apt to be frank and free when fully dressed. The person celebrating Halloween encumbered only by a pumpkin headpiece perhaps is the one who speaks fearlessly about hopes and dreams, failures and success.

Morality is not the issue here.

Walt Whitman said nudity is our natural state and sometimes clothing a kind of perversion.

“There come moods when these clothes of ours are not only too irksome to wear, but are themselves indecent,” said Whitman. Born on Long Island, Whitman would not want to test that theory strolling the Suffolk County shopping mall bearing his name, but maybe he’s got a point.

It’s just that I have yet to be overtaken by the “moods” snaring our audacious hometown poet two centuries ago.

Clothes fit better than when I was a kid — most of those departing pounds never returned — and I can pretty easily find the right size.

But a part of that chubby little boy remains. I’m inclined to cover up and expose little, wear full sleeves and long pants and keep collars buttoned. You never know when the curtain might be pulled aside.