Caught Peeping?

I think I have a peeping Tom situation, of sorts. The of sorts is because I sort of know this person and because he isn’t exactly lurking in the bushes under my bedroom window. It’s my kitchen window he’s into and his view is from a busy bike path that runs past my backyard.

Lady Godiva painting: an 11th century meme.

According to Wikipedia, (a great resource for lazy people who want quick and, sometimes, accurate answers to questions that vex) the original peeping Tom was a dude who was struck blind or dead after witnessing Lady Godiva riding her horse in the nude. For the record, and for any other creepy-creepers who might be reading, I do not own a horse. I also no longer walk around the house in my underwear.

Anyway, for the past few weeks I’ve seen the same guy walking by my backyard right when I happen to glance outside. Like I said, it’s a busy bike path and there are plenty of legitimate reasons for people to be on it;  but I see this guy more often than my elderly neighbor who walks his dog  at the same time every morning. At first I thought it was just coincidence; then I got the suspicious, creepy, am I imagining this? feeling.

That is, until this weekend…
On Saturday night, tired from work and chores, I was in the kitchen making the kind of dinner I eat when there are no children around: a big glass of coconut milk and toast with Nutella. Mmmm. As is customary, I used my index finger to wipe the remaining Nutella off of the butter knife and licked the chocolaty spread from my finger… with a normal amount of enthusiasm.  When I turned to put the knife in the sink (finger still in mouth), there he was, standing on the path, staring right at me. It took about a millisecond for him to turn and dart away, looking both embarrassed and a little thrilled. I, on the other hand, was mildly embarrassed and deeply annoyed. I do not wish to have my pathetic (and unfortunately misleading) single-person dietary habits gawked at by others. Especially married male others.

So when I spotted him out there again last night, I planted my feet firmly on the floor and stared him down with a look that said, “I know what you’re doing and you’re messing with the wrong angry woman.” I think he got it. But just in case, here it is in writing:

Dear Mr. Peepers,
If I catch you hanging around my backyard one more time, looking in my window for a free show, I will not hesitate to embarrass you… AS PUBLICLY AS I PLEASE.
I know who you are, I know where to find you (even when you’re not on the bike path) and I know how to reach your woman. Costco sells the big jars of Nutella in 2 packs; go get your own and make your wife some toast.
Sincerely,
Smart Girl 

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One comment

  1. Btw, this blog post totally worked; the peeper stopped peeping. Coincidentally, I ran into him recently in a pub. He said, “Hey, you’re that pretty girl that lives _______!” I put my finger over my lips as in, “Shhhh,” leaned in and said, “You don’t know a thing.” He laughed nervously and backed away. Don’t mess with Mama.

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