When Mr. R. first told me about you, I didn’t believe him.
“Hey, check out the naked guy ironing,” were his exact words.
“No way,” I answered.
“Way,” he replied, in that tender way that married couples have of communicating with each other.
I looked out the back window and across our lawn to see you, indeed, standing in your house in front of your window performing this mundane task in flagrante delicto. Which was perhaps your point. Naked ironing is less mundane than the regular variety, I suppose.
Butt, (snicker), at what cost? Imagine your unsuspecting neighbors, girding their loins (snort) for battle as another day dawns, looking outside simply wondering what the day may bring, and what do they see? Your heinie, shimmying back and forth as you diligently press the wrinkles out of your Van Heusen. Nobody wants to see that.
Al-ass, (guffaw), lest you think my reasons completely selfish, think of the safety issues. Should you and Mr. Johnson be that close to potential disaster? I mean, you wouldn’t cook bacon in the nude, would you? Maybe you would, but, sheesh!
I never like to point out a problem without offering potential solutions. That would just make me a whiner. Here are some ideas:
- Take your shirts to the dry cleaners. They almost always work fully clothed.
- Replace your natural fiber shirts with the permanent press variety. As promised in the name, they remain permanently pressed.
- Continue to iron your own shirts, but do so the night before, when you still have clothes on.
- Put up curtains.
Hopefully I have communicated this issue to you in a respectful manner. After all, we’re neighbors. And I’ve always thought that good curtains make good neighbors.
Sincerely, Mrs. R.
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