The Grim Burrito

While weighing up the possibilities (for example, do I take some time off and go for a bike ride or do I bake some cookies or otherwise procrastinate work?) I decide it might be wise to dress my freshly showered self, instead of sitting around all day like a bum, so I whip off the oversized t-shirt I slept in. I'm about halfway into a bra and not yet at the familiar dock of clean t-shirt bay, when I hear a sudden loud mechanical whir and turn around to see a young man, in a lawn mower, breezing past my window, a few inches from the glass, peering in at me, eyes darting around trying to see, like a blind man trying to get a focus on a conversation. I give an involuntary squeal and grab the nearest object to cover myself which happens to be an old teddy bear I've had since birth, who sits on a chair by the closet.

So in my attempts to cover up and look less like one of those possibly mythical sex-starved housewives you hear about, welcoming workmen to their homes while donning negligees and purring low voices, I now look like a sex starved lady who enjoys dressing as a pouty pre-pubescent school girl, standing there like a Playboy Bunny caught in headlights, sporting panties, a teddy bear and a fine case of bedhead.

Delightful.

As soon as he's passed the window I whip on my t-shirt and some pants with the speed of a superhero. He passes again several times over the next five minutes or so and while part of me considers closing the blinds and hiding, the rest of me smirks at the idea of upping the ante somewhat by waiting till his next pass then sporting a Sharpie Hitler mustache and passionately showing him my middle finger.

I close the blinds, but I give him the finger, anyway, just for good measure. Plus it's easy to be full of bravado when he can't see me.

Now I might make those cookies.