Alright Mr. Peeping Tom--I am onto you.
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Every time I head out to my tiny balcony to have a smoke (which is quite often as I am only in Virginia as a Consultant and am living in a boring corporate apartment) I hear your sliding glass door open below me.
Now, I think I have heard this for a while but didn't think much of it. After all, I am just now getting used to all of my corporate-apartment-complex sounds and people do, in fact, open their doors occasionally.
So, a few nights ago I notice this door-opening sound (as I am in my usual lounging attire of men's boxers and tank top with ummmmm... no undies) and thoughtfully think, 'Oh no--maybe the guy below me is bothered by my smoking..' so I look down through the deck slots and see you standing below me.....
LOOKING UP MY SHORTS.
After my head snaps up and (i'm pretty sure) my eyes bug out--I cannot believe what I have just seen so I lean over, squinting to try to focus through the narrow spaces, but you have darted (appropriate creepy word) back into your apartment.
My mind races to calculate exactly how many smokes I have had over the last 3 weeks (OMG) and how often I am wearing my lounging shorts with no undies (OMG, OMG)and how many times I have passed you on the sidewalk, smiled and said hello while carrying groceries (OMG, OMG, OMG) and all the while-- for some sick reason-- feeling totally mortified that I have not had a bikini wax in as long as I have been here. I catch myself actually feeling embarassed that YOU, creepy guy, might think that I have less-than-ideal grooming habits.
So thanks to you, Mr. Peeping Tom, I now have to wear underwear when I don't want to AND look like a jackass pinned against my wall with my legs clamped shut every time I want to poison my lungs.
Thanks a lot.