Two years ago, we celebrated Australia Day in the traditional way by going to our friends’ house for a BBQ while a merry band of junkies broke into our house and nicked all our stuff. Now, if there was any justice in the world, they would have subsequently been apprehended, charged and transported to England, where they could have relieved the locals of their land, possessions and traditions. But no.
Of course, I blame our neighbour for the break-in.
Two years ago, a young good-looking couple had just started renovating the house they’d bought across the road. On that ill-fated day, “Darren” (not his real name) was out the front of his new house, painting the porch. We, in the meantime, had been packing up The Love Bus to go to the BBQ when we’d noticed a man on a BMX behaving suspiciously. Not only was this man extremely-very-obviously casing our joint, but he also wasn’t wearing a bicycle helmet. No helmet! I mean, it’s like holding up a placard that says “I LAUGH IN THE FACE OF THE LAW! HA-HA-HA!”.
Anyway, because we were already late for the BBQ, my husband went across the road and asked Darren to keep an eye out for any further suspicious activity. Of course, when we returned some hours later, Darren had packed up his paints and gone – and so had all our belongings.
Now, I’m in no way accusing Darren of stealing our stuff. And I’m not really blaming him. Not much. I mean, he was there to paint his house and not to stand sentry on our belongings, right?
However, just a few weeks ago, I found myself glaring at him through the children’s window as he painted his new fence. And I was thinking “Oooh, my name is Darren! I’m not joining Neighbourhood Watch! I’m joining Neighbourhood Don’t Watch!” and other such mature, sagacious thoughts. As is my way.
And then suddenly I noticed that A) he wasn’t wearing a shirt; and B) he was looking back over at me looking at him not wearing a shirt.
I did the first thing I thought of and ducked.
Which would have just made him think I was just this bored housewife who was totally hot for him and his “Look at me! Look at me!” shirtless ways. Which reminded me of the time another young, rather good-looking man had to step over all my writhing children to get out of the local cafe and I’d thrown myself in front of him and jokingly said “Now you have to get past me, too!” and he’d given me this slightly-disgusted look as if to say “Get away back to your Tupperware Party, Frumpy-Jean”. Stupid Tupperware.
Anyway, the point of all this is that I just want to reassure the neighbourhood at large that I am not a pervert. I am just a mean-spirited son of a bitch who can hold a grudge for years at a time and for no real reason at all. I mean, that’s better than being a pervert, right?
Ha ha brilliant! You should totally steal not-his-real-name’s stuff – I suggest his shirts off the clothes line.
Then you’d be a returning hero – not actually sure how to work that in – he’ll watch the house afterwards.
As far as I can tell, he doesn’t own any shirts. Which would explain why he spends all his time in the front yard without one on.
So when he had his shirt off was he more Colin Firth or Alec Baldwin?
I think he fancied himself as Australian football “hero” Ben Cousins, but without the stupid tatts or the even stupider police record (as far as we know).
Hilarious. Ducking would have made you look much more stable than say, waving and licking your licks at him. Sounds like you live in the Melrose Place complex with all these hot people surrounding you. I want in.
Oh, I shall definitely try licking my lips salaciously at him next time. If he’s going to think that of me, I may as well go all the way, eh?
I hate it when men think you’re perving at them. It’s up there with waving when someone drives past and beeps their horn, and then realising it’s a person you don’t like and would rather have given another hand gesture to.
Perhaps you should just give that Other hand gesture as a general rule – your real friends will think its funny and your faux friends will get the message.
Growing up, I used to baby-sit our next door neighbors’ little baby twins. When I was 16, we moved to a (bigger! better!) house on the next block and a new family moved into our old house. But I still would come by to baby-sit the (now former) neighbors’ kids and would sometimes stand by the window feeding the baby while looking into the windows of my old house to see what the new people had done to it. Inevitably, the woman in the house caught me staring creepily one day and so I (like you) ducked quickly to hide.
Unfortunately, I was holding the baby when I did that, and the neighbor woman, rightfully scared by the way that I seemingly collapsed to the ground while holding a baby, ran over to check on me and make sure I wasn’t dead.
I was not dead, but I kind of wished I was as I struggled to explain why I’d done that.
Huh! That’s a good point! Darren didn’t even bother to come over and check whether I was okay. Another black mark against his name, I think.
(Hilarious story, Alejandra!)
Good looking shirtless neighbours really have a lot to answer for in my opinion.
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(nice work
You’re right! They have a lot to answer for!
We used to call the guy who lived across from us and painted his fence ‘Ugly Man’. And now our neighbours can’t be seen but they can be heard… We are so doing it wrong.
Hilarious post NDM.
The house next to Darren’s is for rent – if you’re interested. The views are pretty good (or so Darren thinks). Plus you can spy on me shouting at the kids.
I love your posts – they always make me smile – THANK YOU
and you are very brave to throw yourself infront of a shirtless man – i tend to slink into the background and hide behind those roadside trees….
( I hold grudges too – am STILL annoyed with neighbour who sent a letter to all the flats in my block because I had a candle, in a jar (tealight candle, enclosed jar) burning outside on my very wide concrete window ledge…
(am very very sorry you were robbed though – I have been several times and it really is worst feeling ever)
Let me get this straight: the good-looking man in the cafe wasn’t shirtless. And I didn’t throw myself in front of Darren. Of course, one of these days I’ll probably collapse outside his house from the exhaustion of it all and he will mistake it for swooning.
By the way, I’m surprised that neighbour of yours didn’t set Today Tonight onto you. Tea-light candle in a jar on a concrete window ledge, indeed! Anna Corin loves that kind of shit.
Admit it. You’re a pee-pee (Boston-Legalese for Peeping Tom). The first step to recovery is accepting that fact.
Then when you’re laid-up in your pad, wheelchair-bound with a broken leg, you won’t have to bother about the neighbour opposite when he commits bloody murder.
Hang on, now: how did I get that broken leg? From swooning outside his house – I mean, *collapsing from exhaustion”?
And shouldn’t I be bothered if he murders someone? Especially if I’m wheelchair bound and can’t run away? I mean, you’ve been to my house: it’s hardly wheel-chair accessible. For one thing, there’s too much plastic shit on the floor.
Haha, oh yeah…so much better!!
You know it!
I think you should buy him a gift… Buy him a new shirt… He clearly needs one…
That certainly would be the neighbourly thing to do…
Unlike, for example, keeping an eye on someone’s house!
The scary thing for me is that truly, the idea of staring at a shirtless man is somewhat titillating. I have no sex life. I am a loser. Can I borrow Darren?
Ok, I just read it a second time and still can’t come up with anything good. Go NDM at the Bloggies!
so, was he hot?
Yes. Painting a fence is thirsty work. Just ask Tom Sawyer.
Nice page! I’m glad I found this.
Welcome Kasey – hop on board! It’s fun central on this blog and we all love the NDM!
(oh dear I’m starting to sound like a member of a cult – nevermind, the most subversive thing we’re likely to do is wet ourselves)
I’m not convinced Kasey Bingamon is really that interested in reading the unhinged musings of a mother-of-three. He (or she) seems to be flogging a cocktail site. Still, thanks for welcoming him so warmly, Fee S. Perhaps I should hire you as my site’s maitre d’?