Did you tell your husband what you’d shouted for all the world to hear? I’m thinking he’s the one who’s gonna have a hard time going outside and facing the neighbors.
A little off subject but to make Elza feel better:
Once when my family was visting my aunt and uncle, my mom, ummmm, clogged the toilet. Dear Auntie went to the neighbors to borrow a plunger. She didn’t even have the ethics to lie about what was going on. Dear mom had to meet the people the next day. BUT she did get to keep the plunger.
If your neighbors just learned for the first time that adults can still masturbate, they’ll be bringing you pineapple upside down cakes and chicken broccoli rice cheese casseroles in appreciation for some while. But probably not for the next couple of days as they’ll be busy.
sound of argument sound of scuffle sound of breaking glass sudden silence more silence sound of shower running heavy thumping sound of circular saw more shower noise crinkle of plastic bags, heavy dragging in driveway trunk slamming engine starting and squeel of car tires silence sound of car returning, parking, around 3 am more shower noise
A few weeks ago, I had just gotten out of the shower, and my husband was fiddling with a syrup bottle in the kitchen. It was a new bottle, and he ended up tearing that little plastic doohickey off of the tab that enables you to simply lift and pull the thing off.
“Hey, you’ve got long fingernails, could you pry this thing off for me?” he asks. I walk into the livingroom to meet him, drying my hair off with one towel and wearing another. I take the bottle from him and start fussing with the tab. I glance up and notice the windows are open, and so as not to offend the tender sensibilities of the outside world by showing off too much leg or shoulder or whatnot, I sit on the floor, figuring I’d just be a few moments. At this point, my husband hears the urgent call of nature and heads off into the bathroom.
I keep trying to get a nail under that stupid cardboard tab, and I just can’t do it. I’ve just moisturised. My fingers are slippery. Alas, with every Swiss Army Knife in the house lost to posterity, and none of us bright enough to just grab a damn knife, I sit and pry and pry and pry. At some point I get this fantastic idea to hold the bottle between my knees so I can get at this thing with both hands.
Stupid, stupid idea.
I finally manage to open the tab a slit, my knees pressed together and PLOOP! I jump, startled, scream, and the towel falls off.
From the bathroom: “Sweetie, what happened?!”
I yell out: “I’m sitting on the living room floor,* naked*[said shrilly], and covered in syrup!”
One of our neighbours was getting his mail from near our front door. “Quit bragging!” he yells in response.
. I just don’t want my neighbors thinkin’ I’m weird 
.
That’s cute.