In Which I Become An Accidental Flasher...
or some habits are hard to break.
Okay, so last week we got all new windows installed in our house. I must tell you, I am NOT a big fan of having workers milling about the house. I loveloveLOVE that the project gets finished in a timely fashion without Geo and me having anything to do with its completion. There's less bloodshed that way. But I REALLY haaaaate having strangers parading around my domicile.
For one thing I'm usually dealing with these guys by myself, and I have little confidence when it comes to making decisions on the fly. Plus I never know what to do with myself to avoid getting in their way. And then there's always that whole awkward "Hey, how ya doin'" conversation that never seems to go anywhere except the express lane to Uncomfortable Land. Then they want to use your toilet, and I'm never sure if I'm expected to make them coffee or lunch or propositions...
It's just plain icky. (And yes, that's the technical term.) Sadly, a necessary ick if we're ever to get crap done to our house.
Plus there's always the horrifying possibility of this:
Fortunately, these guys were unbelievably great. They.Kicked.Ass!! Fifteen windows installed in one day. No lie. And they were completely easy to deal with. Totally low maintenance and barely a blip on the "ick-factor" scale. We are definitely using these dudes again.
So bottom line, we have brand-spanking-new, fully-functioning double hungs (*giggle* my inner 12-year-old thinks that sounds so dirty) and a gorgeous bay window in the front bedroom for which we have yet to figure out the window treatments.
So what does this have to do with old habits being hard to break, you may ask...and you may. Go ahead. I'll wait...
This is the second morning in which I non-chalantly waltz into the bedroom at 3:15am to do my daily check of the weather channel (yeah, I check the weather channel in the morning. What? I'm not old. I just want to know if it's cold or rainy or whatever. Shut up.), turn on the light, flip on the TV and suddenly realize...
I'm standing there TOPLESS.
Yes. Topless. In front of the uncovered bay window. For all the neighborhood to witness my mammary mishap. The girls free and easy. Out there in the gentle breeze. Being all friendly. Saying "Hi, Sailor!" They are such tarts.
Did I mention this was the SECOND time I've done this this week? SECOND. I think I did. I'm such a bonehead. Plus now I think I'm on some sort of to-be-watched-closely police listing of persons who should totally wear clothes. LOTS of clothes. Like...layers upon layers of clothes, you know, as a pub(l)ic service.
And here's the truly disturbing thing... you'd think I'd flee the room in haste to grab a towel or robe or even shut off the light, but noooo. I stood there, clutching my none-too bodacious bazongas and watched the weather report. In my defense, it was the Local on the 8's! Hey, the clock was ticking, and Lord knows I didn't have time to wait an entire 10 minutes for the next report. I barely get to work on time as it is.
So being one who apparently does not shy away from sharing her humiliation with the public, I naturally posted my mishap on Facebook. True to form, my friends came through with wise-ass cracks...pun intended. Jimmy McParkway even wrote a little song about it:
Moon over Dormont/see Murray's ol' tush tonight/
Flashing her bosoms/in the morning's early light.
Look out in Brookline/you might have seen her vag-i-ine.
Moon over Dormont tonight!!
I love you, Facebook.
And that's how I became the accidental flasher of Dormont. Cover your eyes! Cover your eyes!