To the window, to the wall...

I am about to leave town for two weeks. This will not necessarily affect this blog, as I fail to write more than two days in a row, and my absence is usually at least a week long, in between posts. It does, however, affect my sleep, in that I am a) trying to go to bed earlier and b) still not managing to go to bed because I can't seem to finish packing. I thought I would make it easy on myself by showering and getting all of my toiletries packed this evening, saving one extra step in the morning. I did so, put on my nightgown and finished cramming everything I could into the available mismatched baggage I have. I got most of it into three small bags, with a few odds and ends left out. I thought it might be a good idea to put some of it in my trunk, so when I roll out of bed tomorrow, all I have to do is throw on my clothes and stumble to the car at the asscrack of dawn. Keep in mind, this seemed like a good idea at the time. I grabbed a bag and a stack of books (nothing saves from the wilds of Wisconsin and the ensuing ennui thereof like a trove of library books) and headed out to my car. I briefly considered a robe, since my nightgown is a little more than a slinky slip and skims all my favorite parts, leaving little to the imagination. As I finished throwing my books in the trunk, I heard voices from behind me. I quickly and quietly prayed that they were drunkards from the local bar, stumbling down the alley, looking for an unsuspecting female to rape. No such luck. My upstairs neighbors were exiting the building. I was at that moment partially hidden by a tree, and could hear one of the neighbors mutter, "Ooooh, shit." I had two options at this point. I could either ignore them and pretend to put more things in the car, which would effectively hike up my nightgown so that even the most unimaginative fellow on earth could know EXACTLY what I looked like, OR walk past them into the house. Sighing heavily, cheeks aflame, I threw my shoulders back, hulked up to all of my 5 feet 9 inches and stalked past them. As I was almost to the porch, the more attractive of the two gave me the elevator eyes and murmured, "Damn. That is balls OUT." I think I stammered a thanks to him AND to the one that made sure he didn't lock the door that would keep me outside in this state. Balls. Out. I had no response. I couldn't be witty or say anything flirtatious. I was soooooo embarrassed to be caught like that that all I really wanted to do was crawl under my car (which may be an option, next time). But, apparently, my inability to fade into the background sometimes makes me very...balls OUT.