At Least They're Committed

When I was in college I lived for a while in a garden level apartment so the window was slightly above my eye level. Once, while I was diligently doing my Jane Fonda exercises, there was a knock on the window. I had a lot of friends in college, so I quickly paused the VHS and pulled back the curtain to see who’d come to visit me.

It took me a second or six for my eyes to focus. After all it was light in my room and dark outside. It took even longer for my brain to realize what I was looking at. A short, pudgy man, early 50s by the look of it, with his pants down standing outside my window.

Gross. I grabbed a baseball bat and ran outside. Not the wisest thing to do, but what the heck. No matter, by the time I wound my way through the hallway and up the stairs, into the October night-time and around the corner, the man was gone.

And all I could think of was, geeze, if it took me THAT long to figure out what I was looking at he ought not have been so proud of it.