Living in a city as on top of each other as San Francisco, in buildings with walls so thin they won't last the Big One, you have absolutely zero expectation of privacy. Even walking home from the grocery store, you're forced to swing the Charmin all the way up Fillmore, letting the world know you're a fan of the ultra soft. So you'd assume in the moments and spaces we have completely to ourselves, we'd take advantage. And I assume most of us, myself in included, actually do. But I can tell you there are exceptions to this assumption, and at least two of them have lived within direct view of my kitchen window. The Friends had Ugly Naked Guy, and I had Naked Neighbor
My first naked neighbor was hot fire. Yes, I've had two. Though the current one really isn't something to write home about like this one is. So anyway... hot fire as in, normal people would pay lots of money to look at this whenever they wanted in the pages of a sticky magazine. Normally, the people I'm used to seeing flaunt their nudity in San Francisco are never the ones you actually want to see naked. No one's lining up to get photos with the junk-wielding fair patron on Folsom because of his athletic physique, I can tell you that much. So the first time I pranced into my kitchen with visions of burritos dancing in my head and was met an eyeful of bare jibblies across the way, I was shocked, I was embarrassed, but mostly, I was hungry. For the dinner I had intended to make and eat, you pervs. I immediately try to play it cool by busying myself getting the ingredients out of the fridge and trying to keep eyes on the tortillas, eyes on the tortillas, eyes on the tortillas, but I had to be sure of what I just saw. I mean, maybe he was just wearing tiny, tan shorts, right? It only took a quick glance to confirm that no, those and that were certainly not tiny tan shorts.
I can reasonably see this happening once on accident. Maybe that's how he unwinds after a long day and he was so juiced up to throw the burgers on the stove that he just totally forgot to shut the blinds. And that's the benefit of the doubt I gave him until a week later when I flicked the light on and pranced into the kitchen again. As soon as I saw what he was up to over across the way, I vacated the kitchen ASAP, gave him a 15 minute window (haha, get it?) to shield mine eyes by closing his goddamn blinds, and then made my way back to the fridge once I thought it was safe. It was about the opposite as safe, because just as I rounded the corner, he looked up, holding a spatula I should add (thought I'm not sure why I should add that), and smiled. Smiled! As if it was the neighborly thing to do. Naturally, I tried to throw dagger eyes through both our windows, but he turned too quickly. The brown rice probably needed a stir or something.
Some of you may be thinking "You idiot! He was trying to make a pass at you! You should have slipped a sexy note under his door!" And while I'm flattered you would think my raggedy jammies and outdated prescription glasses could possibly that alluring, I should tell you that this Naked Neighbor had an equally as attractive girlfriend. She would come home and giggle at him like he was just the silliest thing in the world. And what would the sexy note have said anyway? Some sort of innuendo recipe for cooking hot dogs? Clearly, he wasn't that bright. He never would have understood it anyway.
Eventually, it seemed like he moved out, and then back in briefly, and then they both moved. Maybe they broke up after her future babies were damaged beyond repair in a freak grease fire accident. Which brings me to:
The short list of things I'd avoid when cooking naked:
- bacon
- sausages (And especially if I was a guy! Too close for comfort.)
- latkes
- pan fried flounder in butter sauce
Or to sum it up – ANYTHING THAT INVOLVES GREASE THAT COULD AT ANY MOMENT FLY ONTO MY BODY AND MAIM MY SKIN, MORE SPECIFICALLY, MY PRECIOUS BITS.
And remember, use baking soda when trying to extinguish a grease fire, not water.
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