strong naked women, weak clothed men

          “You didn’t need a folded-up sheet this time!”  Sam feels like he can finally relax.  What he’s seen today has finally sunk in.

          The food at this restaurant is standard American.  Apokni is easily polishing off a huge hamburger while Sam is only halfway through his.  “I can be myself here, without clothes.  And I’m what they call First Nation.  Canada is much nicer to us.  The neighborhood is even called Cree Heights.”

          “Apokni, this is still . . . Canada.  Cold winters.  How can you possibly stay naked all the time?”

          “I’ve managed it so far.  That sheet was the last thing I wore and that was a year ago.  Anyway, we Cree have a natural resistance to cold.  You didn’t meet the other Mailgirl, Arnaq.  She’s Inuit, grew up in Yellowknife.  She’s practically immune.”

          “There has to be a limit.”

          “Let me show you a few things.”  She takes out her phone.  “Look.”

          “What?  Is that -- majorette leading that parade naked?  And it’s snowing out?  While the rest of her band is all covered up?  Seems downright cruel.”

          “Remember Kathy, who grew up in Japan?  Who had to wear a little skirt with bare legs to school?  Well this majorette signed up for it.  Though she’s not really naked.  See?”

          Apokni zooms in with her fingers.  Sam notices tiny green dots on the girl’s nipples.  And a thin thread-like thing on her crotch.  Still, it was a jarring photo.

          Other photos were just as strange.

          “See this girl who dives naked for pearls in Korea?  See how everyone else on the beach is in coats?  And that’s in cold water!

          “Here’s a high school girl in Indiana who’s been naked since birth.  She’s playing soccer with her friends.  In the snow.

          “Here’s a girl who goes to college in Vermont.  She’s helping her friends make a snowman on the campus quad!

          “So you see it’s not that strange an idea.  I’m at the point where I can walk at a relaxed pace for three hundred meters, in minus ten Celsius.  And -- did I say the summers here are glorious?  Hot sun on my skin!  Mmmm!!”  She closes her eyes and shakes her boobs.  “Celebrating my freedom when everyone else is sweating in their suits -- makes me feel so lucky!”

          “Okay, Okay, but . . .”  Sam looks at his diet soda.  He feels like he needs a drink, a stiffener.  Old Grand Dad, 114 Proof, would be perfect.  They probably have it here, or at least Jack Daniels.  He sighs and hopes the sip of soda will do.

          “You’re in a protected environment.  Sheltered, even.  You can’t stay a Mailgirl all your life.”

          “No of course not.”

          “For one thing, you like to lead things.  Mailgirls are -- subservient.”

          “Did we look subservient to you?”

          “You’re amazing but you’re still just -- couriers.”

          “Do you realize how many things we Mailgirls can do?  How many parts of our bodies we use?  When I first applied, a year and a half ago, it seemed to me almost like a joke.  But when you combine it with Blanke Schande’s idea of strength through nudity, the Mailgirls idea has potential.  I can say that I believe in it now.”

          “What?”

          “Mailgirls!  As a point of beginning.  A strong, naked woman, unafraid, not cringing, or worried about modesty -- don’t you see how she can walk into a room of clothed men and just take over?  Think of places where women have to be always covered up.  They have no rights.  Afghanistan, for example.  But the less women wear, the more power they have.  I know it sounds crazy, but . . . a world of completely nude women and completely clothed men.  That would be the endpoint.”