What can possibly be better than waking up on a Saturday morning, skipping out to the kitchen, turning on your coffee pot, and hanging out the window to smile upon the beautiful day that is stretching lazily before you?
Absolutely nothing, especially when you are clad in only the top half of your pink Betty Boop summer pajamas, because it was too hot to keep the bottoms on the night before. As you feel the gentle breeze tickle your hiney, you do a little dance and scoop up your deliciously fat pug for a snuggle and a squeeze (because truthfully, that's pretty much the only purpose that deliciously fat pugs serve). As you're prancing around your kitchen bottomless performing a Good Morning Waltz with your dog, you happen to notice, out of the corner of your eye, your landlord on the roof right outside your window...
Yeah. That just happened.
The sun is shining, the coffee is brewing, and you're naked from the waist down, buttcheek to eyeball with your landlord.
I have a false sense of invisibility living on the second floor. They're down there, I'm up here... I'm pretty sure that no one can see me (or hear me, as the case may be. I have the same theory when I'm drinking... if I'm not talking directly to someone, they cannot hear what I'm saying or see what I'm doing. It serves my purpose very nicely, until the next morning, of course. But that's a story for a different day). I honestly don't have any idea why I believe that I'm invisible on the second floor, but I do. (It's like when I go to a hotel and wander around with the lights on and the curtains open wearing nothing but my panties. I firmly believe that even though I can see the parking lot, no one in the parking lot is able to see me. I must have been a Super Hero in a past life, with my super power being a cloak of invisibility. Right? That makes perfect sense to me.)
Anyhoo. It didn't occur to me to check to see if anyone was on the roof right outside of my kitchen window this morning because no one has ever been on the roof right outside my kitchen window. Ergo, having had no experience or reason to believe that I would have anything but complete privacy in the comfort of my own kitchen, donning pants prior to emerging from my inner sanctum was not on my list of Things To Do Before Making Coffee. (Seriously... get up, pee, make coffee. End of list.) Even worse, while I was hanging out the window, there's a very good possibility that I was looking right at my landlord and didn't see him... because I wasn't expecting him to be there (and I'm abnormally oblivious, even under the best of circumstances.).
Imagine my shock when I heard him say, "Good morning, Dani!"
I whirled around and dropped Maisy, who (bless her heart, is as obtuse as I am) immediately panicked and started barking. "What the hell is that man doing on my roof?" she yapped. (What she should have been saying was, "Mommy! You aren't wearing any pants!")
I had a momentary loss of mental capacity because rather than power-walk my happy ass into the bedroom and cover my lower extremities, I stood there and carried on a rather stilted conversation with my landlord instead.
Inside my head this conversation was playing out: "Back away from the window and put on some pants. Back awayyyy from the window and put onnnn some pants. Seriously, Dude... backkkk awayyyy from the windowwww and put onnnnn some pantssss!"
The external conversation was more along the lines of: "So you'll be painting the trim today? Awesome! Yes, it is gorgeous out! Perfect day to be outside! No, everything is fine... Talk to you later..."
Once every avenue of small-talk petered out, I flew back into the bedroom and plopped dramatically onto the bed next to Dan, face down and humiliated.
He roused himself enough to say, "What're you doing?"
Me: "The landlord just saw me naked."
Him: *snooooooooore* *snoooooooooore*
Have you ever wondered if the word "embarrassed" comes from the Latin, "Bare Assed?" In other words, caught with your pants down... ass is bare... embarrassed...
Just me, then?