So there I was on the couch: feet up, pantless (as one is wont to do in one's own home when it's roughly the temperature of a preheating oven outside), hair in a braid to let the Lush sink in while I attempt to not-so-slowly bring my hair back to blonde, Morning Benders sliiightly... er...blaring, shall we say, when--
My across-the-street neighbor
(The one who lives across the street)
LEANED OUT OF HER WINDOW and sort of... hissed at me.
I'll let that sink in for a second.
My first response was... waa? No. I must be imagining things. Did the peripheral eye sweep, straightened up and pulled my shirt down a little bit.
Yep. Definitely someone hissing at me.
In one smooth move, I ducked around the open curtains-- while shimmying my shirt down further-- and did the fastest, fakest-ever nonchalant saunter/run for the bathroom. I managed to creep back once I composed myself. Closed the curtains.
I have no idea what that lady wanted. She looked actually pleasant, for someone being creepy and trying to get my attention from across a street. Maybe she wanted to chat? What if she's always had this longing to string up tin cans and gossip about the other weirdo neighbors. (Like the lady who sent me a hand-written, STAMPED note about how I was a horrible person for accidentally putting my trash in front of her gate.) We could be pals! Chums! I'd borrow sugar from her and she'd pick up my mail when I'd go out of town! Neighbors! Sisterhood!
Meh. She probably wanted me to turn down the music.
Aaaand lesson learned: curtains stay CLOSED.