#729: I Am Not Unlike A Jaybird
Today, I am hanging around the apartment completely bottomsless. No socks, no pants, no knickers. I am flying footloose and fancy free like that oft reference jaybird, who is reportedly naked.
If it is the middle of the night and I go to get something out of the refrigerator, I know that its interior bulb will come on and shine a cold spotlight on my very naked self, making the numerous tenants across the courtyard from my kitchen window unintentionally privy to my pale, thirty-something ass. I know this, so I am careful at two in the morning to cover myself with a housecoat or a towel or at least a t-shirt that I can hold against me and switch from back to front as I enter and leave the room. I don't care how stupid my attempts at modesty appear as long as I've got the nipples and pubic hair covered. Somewhere along the line, I decided that decency begins and ends with what one of my brother's childhood friends once referred to as "the pink parts".
During the day, though, my sense of decency is another matter. I fearlessly parade my naked self through the apartment, secure in the idea that no can see through my windows when it is light outside. If I actually stop to really think about it, I know that this idea is not entirely fallacious, but that it does have its limits. For example, if someone were to be directly outside my window, there would be no hiding the fact that I was just shaking my jubblies at the cats to LCD Sound System. I know this and worry that I will some day be one of those crazy old ladies who flashes her deflated, liver-spotted chest flaps at young men in the park, yet I still find myself doing the dishes pantsless not three feet from the window and thinking Eh, whatever. No one can see me.
As I write this, I am sure that one of my neighbours will read this and not only know that they've got a Schmutzie in the building but also that she's got an old navel piercing that is slowly being swallowed by an extraordinarily deep belly button, a gut built on hot wings, and an embarrassing tattoo that makes her look like a Jesus freak.
Then again, as I write this, I am still sitting bottomsless in the living room in full view of two windows. I am all class, people. All class.