Here's some good advice: if you're wearing a skirt and want to get your neighbor's attention, don't do so when he's one floor below you. Even if your neighbor is gay, and has no desire whatsoever to see what you have to offer. Even then, when you have nothing to fear, it's really best to wait until you're both on an even keel. And for future reference, overly blustery days are not, generally, good days to head out on the town in your newest skimpy piece of clothing. Really, you should be so lucky to have someone like me offering up such sage advice. I'm the perfect audience, as it were, to do so. True, I wasn't eager to see what it is that you subjected me to, but in the grand scheme of things, I suppose subjecting me unwillingly (and unwittingly) is better for you than, say, some crazy sex-starved womanizer, i.e. the gross downstairs neighbor. Unless you're into that sort of thing. It's hard for me to tell.

I say this mainly because the only thing I really know about you is that you like peeking into my window. I see you walking by, or clunking, more like, given your affinity for wearing high heels. I see your gaze as your eyes alight upon the contents scattered across my "dining room" table, checking out my bodacious tropical house plant and the many scattered papers, puzzle pieces, toys, stamps, food, etc. that happens to land there. I'm a fascinating person, I know. I was hoping that you seeing me peeking out the window, shirtless, to check on the weather outside, might be an encouraging means, however unintentional, for you to change your ways.

But alas, I was sorely mistaken. You were at it again tonight, and this past weekend, and several times last week. Maybe I'll start waving at you every time I see you looking in here. Or perhaps I'll make a little sign that says "Howdy neighbor!" and place it in front of my plant. I could even leave cards or notes or something for you on the outside window sill, because I know you'll find them. It would be just like Sleepless in Seattle or Sleepless in Seattle 2, with the one difference being that I don't want to date you. And I don't really want you to respond, either.

I'd settle for less of you peeking in my window, but I know that's not exactly realistic of me to expect. So I'll just hope I never have to see up your skirt. Ever. Again.