If this were a romance novel, it would go something like this:

Young, single, totally gorgeous but equally unaware she’s so damn hot woman goes into kitchen to fetch something. A diet Coke, or a pretzel, say. She looks out the kitchen window into the apartment across the shaftway (hee, hee, shaftway), and spies a completely naked, totally hot, muscular guy going about whatever business he has in the kitchen. Embarrassed, she runs out of the kitchen, but not before noticing what time he’s there naked. Later, she runs into him in a neighborhood bar, recognizes him, and does something she would never do–picks him up.

After several bouts of mad, passionate nookie, they declare their love for each other, and she confesses she first saw him naked in the apartment across the way (somehow sliding over the fact they live opposite each other, and the doofus should’ve been able to figure out he’d seen her somewhere before). He thinks she wanted him only for his manly physique, tries to dump her, but can’t live without her. Meanwhile, she does something to prove she likes his mind, too, and they live Happily Ever After.

The reality:

My next-door neighbor, a thirty-something balding married father of two, decides in mid-afternoon, to wander around his kitchen stark naked, therefore subjecting me to the sight of his flabby ass. Blecch.

Megan

*His name is not Art, btw.

This entry was posted on Saturday, July 21st, 2007 at 11:58 pm and is filed under Reality Is A Bitch. And So Am I.. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.