Everyone has a neighbor that’s a little odd. For all I know, I fit that bill for someone else on my block. But no matter what anyone in my neighborhood can say about me, they cannot say they have ever seen me naked.
When you buy a house, there are a lot of things you don’t notice. You don’t notice the family on the corner who plays their loud music late into the night. Why? Because you don’t shop for houses at night. You pay for an inspection to catch all of the little things that the house has wrong with it, but there needs to be an inspection for the houses around your house. I would have liked to have known that my next-door neighbors have a window in their shower and when I walk out of my garage to take out the trash, I am assaulted by their nakedness! WTF?
We don’t have the kind of relationship with these people that allows me to say, “Hey, Eunice! I saw your knockers this morning. Is that a butterfly tattoo or a chicken? I couldn’t tell with all the body wash you were using. What kind is that, by the way?”
I did, however, try to hint to them once about the transparency and idiot-placement of their bathroom window by asking them if they liked that particular brand of shampoo I see in their window. Apparently, they believe my vision only extends to purple bottles and not flesh tones. Trust me, there are a lot more flesh tones in that window than there are purple bottles.
No matter how I have tried to let them know that I CAN SEE THEM, they don’t get it. Or maybe they ignore me on purpose. Maybe they enjoy the look of terror on my face when I open the door to the side yard and see them in the shower. The thought of that makes me want to walk outside that door without my contacts and just stand there and wave. “Mornin’, Neighbor! How’s the water?” But I can’t do it. There are some things that cannot be unseen.
This morning, I let my guard down. I usually take a quick peek outside the door to look for water droplets on the window. I guess I was tired. I opened the door all the way and almost took a step out, trash sack in hand. I didn’t scream. I couldn’t. I dropped the trash and slammed the door closed as fast as I could. If I never see that again, it will be too soon. In the meantime, I think I’m going to delegate trash duty to my husband.
No comments:
Post a Comment