So, I sit on this fantastic neighborhood board, chock full of fine, upstanding professionals and community leaders whom I very much admire. I’m the newest board member, so my friendships within the group are still relatively new.
Last night was our monthly board meeting, a little slice of “me” time that I treasure and very much look forward to attending. I feel good about making my neighborhood a better place and being an invested, engaged citizen; it’s kind of my thing.
After dinner I headed out to the meeting with my next door neighbor. We meet at a quiet, local pub perfect for a bit of casual conversation and some getting down to business. Some of the other board members were already cozied up to the bar. My neighbor and I greeted our friends with the requisite slaps on the back, glad to be seeing one another again in our familiar haunt.
When the president of the board, a notoriously affable man with a penchant for an ill-timed, harmlessly inappropriate commentary spun on his stool; he met me with words I just wasn’t quite armed for.
“I saw you naked on Sunday. You might want to close your curtains in your front room.”
Honestly, this was playing out like a bad dream sequence; you know the one where you show up to work without wearing any pants. Much to my chagrin, there was no waking up from this pants-free party. There was no exit strategy. He knows where I live and naked is naked. You don’t mistake naked.
And I was naked on Sunday in front of my window–stupidly naked for all the neighbors to see. I’m guilty as charged. Guilty of believing that my home is my impenetrable fortress of privacy, like the guy in the car next to you who is digging in his nose like he’s the Invisible Man or something. I didn’t think twice about running from the laundry room to the upstairs bedroom au natural. I was in my house, my castle, my bunker, not some den of sin.
Needless to say the curtains will be tightly drawn from here on out. The neighbors will think that our family is cloistered in mourning, or selecting the next Pope. The pres is officially the last person who will ever catch an unsuspecting glimpse of me in my birthday suit. Next time you drive by, I’ll be the nun in the window in the wool turtleneck and matching burlap sack behind the window tint.
Thank God I’ve been working out.