My dinner is less interesting than your panties. Probably.

13 Dec

One of the interesting acoustic features of my condo is that the wall separating my kitchen from my neighbor’s kitchen is strictly a privacy shield. It does nothing to block the noise.

Fortunately, of all the rooms in my place, that’s the one in which I’m most comfortable with eavesdropping (or being overheard). A few months ago I posted on Facebook something along the lines of, “It sounds like my neighbors have a pet goat.” This weekend I got to the bottom of that mystery. It is my neighbor, singing.

Apparently the guy is tone deaf. Saturday night we was in the kitchen loading the dryer and I heard him trying to belt out some hiphop. And it sounded like a goat bleating. Bless his heart.

He interrupted the song to tell someone that it was a good thing he was doing laundry because he was out of clean underwear. He went on to inform us that he had considered turning his underwear inside-out to get a few more days out of them, but had ultimately decided that would just make his pants dirty.


I thought about pulling up a chair and just sitting there to see what else I could learn, since the guy was cracking me up, but it was about that time my fire turned all kinds of ape-shit crazy in the living room, forcing me to run out and get my fire extinguisher.

Fast forward to Sunday night. I’m in the kitchen alone, frying up bacon, onion and mushrooms in a skillet. And I find myself saying – to absolutely no one other than myself – “Oh hells yeah. This is some awesomeness right here. A skillet of bacon, onions and mushrooms for dinner? Who’s jealous? Who’s jealous?”

Except, I wasn’t exactly SAYING it. I was kind of shrieking it because I was excited. And that’s when I heard the distinct sound of my neighbor’s dryer starting. Which means he was probably over there pointing at the wall so his girlfriend could hear me going bananas for a non-nutritional dinner.

At least he’s clear: I’m not a goat. Hells no.

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