Common Sense Doesn't Become Me (3 page)

Five minutes had passed, and I was beginning
to feel an ache in my lower back, along with the fact that my butt
had fallen asleep. In the two years that I had lived in this
apartment, I had never once put a cushion on this window seat let
alone pillows. No reason to. I used it as a coffee table or junk
collector. Now, with my new neighbor and his ability to put on a
free erotic show, I will be putting not only a plush bench pillow
but also several throw pillows. I might even pick up a book and
pretend to read while precariously facing my neighbor's bedroom
window. Perhaps, right about the time he needs to either, dress or
undress, or just take a shower. This is how I start it. The
trouble. Finding devious ways to get my mojo going and then not
knowing when to stop.

This exciting fluttering feeling I was
getting thinking about my new neighbor halted for a second as I
started to think briefly of Steve and our precarious meeting. Who
picks up a guy at a convenience store that's buying large size
condoms? Me, that's who! Maybe it was because I was there to buy
replacement batteries for my vibrator and the fact that not only
was his package large, but his looks were sexy. His laughter was
uncanny when he asked what the batteries were for as we stood in a
line of six people. I leaned in, whispered into his ear, not
wanting to tell a lie and said the truth as sexy as I could. He
turned his complete attention to me and smiled. Before I knew it,
he was buying my batteries for me, along with his condoms, and
telling me his offer of replacing my batteries, if you get what I
mean. So it wasn't love at first sight, although he was good
looking. It was after my first orgasm that I thought I fell in
love. Well, love is blind and orgasms make women do stupid stuff. I
should have stuck with the batteries.

I knew that what I had done, had not been
done to hurt anyone, especially Steve's wife. If I had known he was
married, I would have- NOT flirted. Thinking back, he did not have
his ring on at the store either. Therefore, I needed to get over my
guilt, conjure up some witty banter for the next time my mother
drops a comment about it, and move on. Perhaps the convenience of
my new naked neighbor moving in was just the type of moving on I
needed. However, that good girl conscious was reaching out to me,
practically screaming, 'you should find a way to apologize to
Steve's wife.' She had a valid point, but I felt more time needed
to pass before I reached out. I let my mind wander back to the
image of my naked neighbor, and I felt a warm fuzzy feeling replace
the retched mess I was the night before the entire ordeal.

When I finally could not take sitting any
longer, I stood up to stretch with my back to the window. I let my
arms stretch above my head, and my long tee shirt rose up with my
arms. I let the air seep into the holes of my last resort
underwear; my faded red, more like pink, well-worn and holey granny
panties. Today was laundry day, so shoot me for not throwing them
away like I should, instead I kept them around for days like today,
procrastination laundry day. Where every sock, bra and underwear
are dirty, and walking around without undies on in only a tee shirt
wasn't my style after a night like last night.

When I finally bent down to touch my toes, I
caught a glimpse of my toes that were in desperate need of a
pedicure. Somewhere between last night's birthday soirée and this
morning, I chipped two toenails to a ragged edge. A pedicure will
be something I can run down the street and do while my laundry is
taking up the only three washers and dryers in the basement
apartment complex's laundry facilities. I know it's kind of rude,
but it's Monday and the laundry room in my apartment building and
the apartment across the way that had access to it - same
management company, only one laundry room between the two buildings
- was always empty on Monday mornings. So once a month I take a
vacation or uh-hum sick day, sad - I know, and I wash a month's
worth of laundry, clean my apartment, stock my cabinets with food
and liquor and get my hair done along with a manicure and pedicure
if I'm feeling lucky. Today, after getting a five-second glimpse of
my finely sculpted naked neighbor's body, I am feeling good!

When I finally stood back up and turned to
see the progress on my neighbor, I was shocked and mortified. Not
only was he fully dressed in khaki shorts and army green tee shirt,
but he was leaning against his window looking directly at me. Can
you say deer caught in headlight look, from me? He had a devilish
grin upon his adorable face. I couldn't make out the color of his
eyes but his slightly tanned skin suggested Spanish heritage, and
his dark-brown hair in a short cut suggested professional man or
perhaps just a clean-cut guy that lived in these average rent
apartments. I gulped hard as he waved, and I froze. He shook his
head with a smile, turned his back to me with a backwards wave, and
then he was out of my line of sight.

I bolted for my bathroom faster than superman
could change in a phone booth. I took the first look at myself
after a night of crying from my birthday party and loss of my
latest and realized - I looked like hell. My mascara was waterproof
but somehow had failed me. Dark black inking stains lined under my
eyes like a raccoon and one long streak of faded black masked my
face from the tips of my fingers constantly wiping the tears away.
I could sue the mascara company for defamation of the truth but
then again, is any mascara truly waterproof? I noticed my rat's
nest of a hair that once had been updo'd upon my head the night
before for the birthday dinner party. My long sleep tee shirt
showed the wrinkles from many nights of sleep, and then I did what
I was afraid had put that devilish grin upon his face. I lifted my
arms and realized, yes it did; my underwear was exposed, holes and
all. I bolted to the full-length mirror in my bedroom, bent over to
touch my toes while glancing sideways into the mirror. Just like I
thought; the horror of it. My holey granny panties made my ass look
baggy, and one particular hole gave a bird's eye view to my
precious privates. UGH!

I tore off my panties and threw them in the
trash. I stared at my reflection, wondering what my new neighbor
thought of the crazy lady across the way. I grabbed a brush off my
nightstand, the same one I had used last night to sing sad love
songs to myself. I brushed with one hand while I took the updo
clips out of my hair with the other. Tossing those hairpins on the
floor like pennies in a fountain, wishing my neighbor could see me
in one of my finer moments, not like he saw me this morning.

As far as first impressions went, I was sure
I just made a doosey on my part. However, for him, it was like
watching a male centerfold model in action, an athletic winning his
game, fine dining luxury sports car, or better yet hot fudge sundae
with extra whipped cream. He looked way out of my league, but that
was not going to stop me from doing a little daydreaming. At this
point, I was not going back to the window or near it until I looked
like a respectable woman.

I went back to the bathroom and decided I
needed a quick shower before heading down into the basement to get
the laundry done. I might as well just go on with my Monday.
Chances were I was not going to run into my new neighbor, but I
wanted to make sure if the chance happened, my hair and makeup
looked great, and I would be wearing something that showed off my
body that worked so hard almost every weeknight at the gym after
work.

Just as I was about to jump into the shower,
my phone rang. I reached the kitchen in just a towel, luckily
positioned out of the line of sight of my new neighbor. I glanced
at the caller ID and noticed it was my mother. There was not a
prayer in hell I wanted to talk to her after her witty repertoire
last night at my birthday dinner party. It was bad enough she made
me feel completely unsuccessful in life, but had to compare me to
my twenty six-year-old sister who, according to my mother, was the
star on the Christmas tree.

I had to agree that my job as a production
plant, low on totem pole, administrator to the production line
manager, was not where my mother wanted me to be at thirty. Not to
mention, I had every intention of going back to college after my
freshman year fiasco, but life, parties and good times just kept on
rolling by, and I had no strong desire to return. Besides, I had
full health benefits, a retirement package in the works and four
weeks of vacation and sick leave a year, which was almost unheard
of anymore. Nobody bitched when I wanted my Monday off to handle
errands, and the first few nice days in summer got a sick call in
as well. My workload was easy, and my boss was a breeze. At this
juncture in my life, and with the way the economy is, I would be a
fool to go back to college and wait tables part-time to pay for
it.

In all my daydreaming, as my mother's message
sung out on the answering machine playback, I only caught a
resemblance of an apology from my mom and a mention that I left my
birthday card at the restaurant with my two hundred dollar Macy's
gift card in it. I did not forget; it was intentional. After the
fiasco I created, and my family's crazy reaction, I wanted to leave
the waitress a little something extra for having to deal with my
crazy family.

It was bad enough that my best friend's
husband offered to leave the tip on a seven hundred dollar tab. I
think the thirty minutes everyone spent bickering about what their
share in food and alcohol was, not differing by more than ten or
twenty bucks either way. I figured he was afraid of how long it
might take when my dad mentioned that the gratuity was not
automatically added in as typical done for a large party. The
grumbling started, and Carl dropped four hundreds on the table in
addition to already paying for their own meal and told me it was
for the tip and my dinner, and this was their birthday present.
That started a bit of back and forth conversation of 'that's too
much', and 'you don't have to do that'. However, I let Marion and
Carl kiss me good-bye, after they told me that they had a cab with
paid fare waiting out front for my escape. They hustled out of the
restaurant before anything more enlightened happened with my
family, which usually did. It was too late for me at that point; I
was already too far gone with my blissful alcoholic haze as I
shouted out to the waitress 'shack me up my snake', which of course
meant pack me up my cake.

I deleted the message from my mom. I had to
figure that was the best apology I was ever going to get from her.
The sting at the end of the message mentioning a community college
package should be arriving in the mail only made the apology feel
like a bee sting - which I am allergic to, by the way.

I peeked around the corner of my kitchen
towards my front room window, making sure my neighbor wasn't
looking this way for a glimpse of the crazy lady across the alley
way. Coast is clear.

I made a mad dash for the bathroom and almost
made it unscathed. Somehow or another, I brought a drink home from
the restaurant, half-filled with alcohol, ice, and something sweet.
Don't ask me what, I was too drunk to remember. I just realized, as
I laid flat out on my back and my towel now slipping open that -
that drink from the restaurant, which was illegal for me to walk
out with - somehow spilled on my wood floor causing a nice slick
spot for me to lose my footing.

I laid on the floor for a few minutes, glad
my ass and right shoulder took the brunt of the fall and not my
head. I noticed the peeling paint on the apartment ceiling and
added calling the super to my to-do list. I noticed a cobweb that
appeared since my last dusting on the top of the doorway molding. I
turned my head and noticed the restaurant glass had not broken when
I must have inadvertently dropped it on the floor, aiming for my
entryway table, but instead it landed and rolled partially
underneath. I was a bit hung over to notice it this morning.
Although this morning, before seeing the gloriously naked body of
my new neighbor, I was perfectly content to walk about my place
without staying close to the wall and out of sight of my delectably
handsome and totally edible neighbor, if you get what I mean.

I finally took a deep breath and figured I
could chalk this up to the fact that I was not officially thirty
until Wednesday, so I could get the stupid twenties shenanigans out
of the way until then. Because once I was officially thirty, I was
going to grow up, somewhat. I was going to buy a new car, volunteer
for the needy, put more money in savings instead of charging more
on my credit card bill, or at least try. I was going to take a
class or two in business management; not through the community
college like my mom insisted, but through my work's job enrichment
program, which, by the way, was free. I was going to knock my lousy
common sense of my twenties out of the ballpark and be a more
mature thirty-year-old woman. Yup. That was what I was going to
do.

As I lay on my floor, staring at my ceiling,
two thoughts crossed my mind. The first led to the second. My
neighbor. He was my first plan. I conjured up his looks that were
still fresh in my memory and thought of how strong his hands looked
to match the muscles that rippled on his chest. I wondered how
those strong hands would feel on my body and what color his eyes
were. Not that it was important. The rest of him was so sexy I
truly was not going to be fixated on the color of his eyes. Then I
thought about my birthday cake. It was going to be my emotional
substitute for losing Steve. Not that he was mine to take; ouch,
that hurt finding that out a bit too late. However, I wanted some
leftover cake to eat, sober... perhaps while catching the next
naked show of my neighbor.

Chapter Three

The day was cloudless,
and the sun had heated it up to a nice warm seventy degrees so far
with an expected high in the eighties. I dressed in my 'let's go to
the bar' jeans, since everything else was dirty. I put on a purple
lace bra to encase my size C cup girls. They were always happier in
something pretty. I did not have a single pair of underwear left
that was clean, unless I wanted to wear my thong underwear. That, I
usually saved for fun date nights, like I use to have with Steve.
That thought caught a hitch in my breath. I threw my shoulders
back, my head high and dug in my closet for a top to wear. I picked
out a purple Colorado Rockies tee shirt I liked to wear to the ball
games I went to with my dad. I slipped on my matching purple
flip-flops. I like to color coordinate my casual clothes, so sue
me, besides, my mani-pedi, required flip-flops.