The conversation flows from politics to recipes to the weather. Nobody mentions the elephant in the room—or rather, the lack of clothing. It is the first rule of naturism: you talk about everything except the nudity. The nudity is normalized. Christmas Eve in France is dominated by Le Réveillon —a late, lavish meal following midnight mass. In a nudist context, the logistics are unique.
Inside, however, the scene is radically different.
In this household, the tradition is adapted. The children (or young adults) are sent to look out the window. When they turn back, a designated family member has "stripped down" and donned just the red hat and a fake white beard.
Our story takes place at a private gîte (cottage) in the Dordogne region, or perhaps a central centre naturiste in the Loire Valley that remains open for the hardcore adherents. Outside, the temperature hovers near freezing. A thick fog rolls over the limestone cliffs. The oak trees are skeletal. It is not beach weather.
