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.
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.