1 min read



As you know, I have a new male neighbor.  He rides this Harley Davidson and does fairly well with the ladies.  As you also know, we live right on top of each other in these cute Victorians. (There's probably four feet between our house and theirs.)

Here's the deal.  I've now seen my neighbor naked three times.  Yep, full nudity.

I don't even know his name.

I can hear my sister's voice in my head, "Oh my God Claudie. That's awful." She would then go on and on about the guy or about me or if I was safe or whatever else came into her head at the moment. So I haven't told her about Naked Boy.

The problem is that I don't care.  I think I should care that I've seen him naked.  But I don't.  I've searched my heart, mind, body and soul. Results? I don't care.

I just don't want to see him in action.  You know?

So last weekend, I get up to let Rosie out.? She's dancing at the back door when I discover that naked guy has someone over.  We slide to the back door in horror then turn around to trot out the front door.  I open the front door and Rosie bounds out to say 'Hi' to the seven guys who are sitting on the porch of the house on the opposite side of our house.  Running out in my pjs, I retrieve the dog to a round of "how's it going?" then skulk inside.

Ah crap.