Gobo may jobo, Solo.

Yesterday as I was slinking out of my apartment to go on my daily jog I was intercepted by my next door neighbor. In fact this neighbor is why I slink out of my apartment as it is.

The day I met her I was carrying boxes into my shiny new apartment, hoping for a sexy young stud/librarian as a neighbor. I was very bummed when a quite middle aged rotund (we’re talking ‘Violet you’re turning violet, Violet’ on her way to the juicing room rotund) lady leapt out of the doorway.

“Uhm, hi. You must be new.”
“Yeah, I’m just moving in.”
“Yeah, about that. You know you shouldn’t leave your door open. I’ve been watching it for you, ‘cause Green Lake isn’t a safe neighborhood you know.”
“Well, I’m just moving here from Lake City, so it’s a major improvement. Ha, ha, ha.”
“Well, we had a rape here last year.”
“In this building?”
“Well no, over on Aurora (notorious for prostitution etc. also not near my house at all).”
“Oh, I see. Uhm. Well. I’m just unloading these boxes, so the door will be shut when I’m done.”
“Yeah, well, you should make sure you keep your door locked at all times. And your windows. I don’t even open them all the way. Only as far as the low setting on the lock. You know a lady living alone can’t be too careful.”
“Of course.”
“Being on the ground floor as well.”
“True.”
“A girl simply must protect her virtue.”
LOOOOOOONG pause.
“You’re absolutely right.”

2 thoughts:
1. Darling, I’m plum out of virtue.
2. You have got nothing to worry about because unless the mad rapist you fear specifically has a thing for fat/old chicks (to the point that he absolutely prefers them to young thin girls i.e. the other inhabitants of the building) your virtue will be intact when they put you in the ground.


So since then I’ve been avoiding her craziness. Until she got me yesterday- she must have been waiting with her ear to the door.

“Uhm, wait, uhm, Quiana, uhm, did you hear er… noises last night?” I shrank back inside the happy spot in my brain fearing that this woman was out there threatening the world by procreating. “Uhm, what noises?” She leaned in and whispered “Vomiting noises.” “Uhm, no,” I responded inching towards the hall door. “Oh. Well good. Because it wasn’t me. It was my upstairs neighbor. He must be sick. I just didn’t want you to think it is me.” “Of course not, I would never… anyway, I must er… run. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ahem.” What I wanted to say was: look honey buns, something tells me I’d be able to tell if you were bulimic.