in issue nine: humor
Scintillations
Hair Dye Hell
Morning Glory
Made With Extra Love
My
Father's Legacy
It's A Gift
Toe Job
Need
A Laugh?
Cleaning Day
Letters to
My
Younger Self
Moody Girl
photography
Beach
Foot
Leaf
Gnome
Picnic
Tables
Flower Circus
Yellow
Bikes
poetry
Jellyfish
artwork
Cover: El
Grillo
Falling In Love
workshops
Play With Your Words
@ 826 Valencia - 1/11
Play With Your Words
Magic Money
take me back
To The Cover
To The Contents Page
in
every issue
Your
Feedback
We
love comments!
Subscribe To Be Real
future
issues
Issue Ten:
Free Write
Issue Eleven: Play
As
is standard when I want to get into the mood to clean the
apartment, one afternoon I put on a pair of white panties, a
black bra, and 3’’ black strappy heels. (This is my
typical cleaning uniform, though the colors of said garments
are known to change each time, of course.) With my hair up in
a loose messy bun and a purple sea shell necklace on just for
kicks and giggles, I started cleaning my living room as
“Latin Groove” music came blasting through my stereo. I
had just finished dusting the bookshelves when I decided to
replace the white Christmas lights that were hung around the
sliding glass door. I happened to have another strand in my
bedroom that I barely used and I knew I would get much more
pleasure from them if I put them in the living room. (I
admired the last strand so much that they finally gave out
about a month ago.)
So in my heels, I climbed up on a little stool, took down the
old lights, and started hanging the ones from my bedroom. I
was almost finished when my dog came over, pushed the blinds
open with his nose, and started attentively staring at
something. After a minute or so, I looked outside, and to my
surprise, there was one of my neighbors looking right at me
about 6 feet away from my sliding glass door with his two
dogs. Although I didn’t know his name, I frequently
exchanged pleasantries with him and his wife nearly every day
as we passed each other on the stairwell or in the parking
lot. And now here he was; this 50-something year old man,
looking a little dumbfounded and mesmerized at the sight of me
in my whole scanty get-up, standing on a stool, hanging
Christmas lights, and singing along to a latin techno song.
I’m even sure he was able to hear me singing… and I was
dancing a bit at the time too. Oh my.
Luckily, he was in such a trance that he hadn’t realized I
caught him gawking at me. So as gracefully as possible, I
stepped off the stool like nothing was out of the ordinary,
briskly walked past the sliding glass door, and braced myself
against the wall. I figured that I’d give him a few seconds
to resume walking his dogs and then I could resume hanging my
Christmas lights while letting the embarrassed blush on my
cheeks fade away. As I stood pressed to the wall I thought to
myself, “You really need to put some heavy curtains up
before you attempt this again my dear.”
After a minute of letting my pulse return to normal, I pushed
aside one of the blinds with an index finger to make sure the
coast was clear. However, I was completely shocked to find my
neighbor still standing there, staring at the spot where he
originally saw me, presumably hoping the show would start back
up again soon!
For an entire week after that incident, whenever I was going
to or from my apartment, I found myself peeking around
corners, walking quickly, and spending no time dallying
outside in order to spare myself a chance meeting with this
particular neighbor. Oh, the occupational hazards of being me!
I was chastising myself for taking these silly precautions one
afternoon when I pulled into the apartment’s parking lot to
see stacks of boxes placed on the sidewalk, a moving truck,
and my said neighbors busily arranging their belongings inside
of it. Suddenly, my entire world brightened. Could it be?
With a new-found sense of dignity, I parked next to them,
strutted to the back of the truck, and asked them if they were
indeed moving. When I heard their reply of “yes”, I felt
like doing a jig. What a relief!
I still wear my standard cleaning uniform whenever I need the
motivation to pull out the vacuum, bottles of cleaners, and
dust rags. It’s a perfectly fine ritual of mine that I will
not allow one overzealous neighbor to permanently ruin.
However, I do find myself thinking of that incident every time
I dance about in my strappy heels wielding a cleaning tool of
my choice.
Be Real Magazine | P.O. Box 26606 | San Francisco, CA 94126
Copyright © 2000-2005 Be Real Magazine. All rights reserved.