Its a strange feeling

As many of you know, my office is located on the second floor. I have two windows by my desk. I never have anyone walk by on the sidewalk and stare at me through the window. I could sit here and pick my nose all day long and no one would catch me. Its bad training really. Much like living on a farm and then moving to town. I grew up on farms. In most farmhouses, you can walk past any window completely naked and no neighbors or passersby will see you. But no one really warns you to discontinue this behavior when you move to a home in town. No one sat down and explained to me that at any given moment, a stranger could walk by your home or a neighbor could peer into the window just when you are slipping out of your robe. Bad training.

Truly, the only training I really got for town-living is this: my parents have a giant living room window in their ranch house. Every night my mom makes a fuss about closing the drapes because "we are on display". The house is several hundred yards away from the untraveled gravel road they live on. But she fusses about it nonetheless. (Sorry mom. It just fit in with what I was talking about.) I never took it seriously.

You can imagine my surprise and discomfort when the window washer props up his ladder right outside my windows and goes to work. I'm really not quite sure what to do with myself. I suddenly feel very...exposed. Watched. Spied upon. I mentally start making a laundry list of things that I need to be sure not to do: pick nose, dislodge wedgie, sneeze without covering, twirl my hair, make strange faces, adjust unmentionables, daydream, bite my nails, look for split ends.

When I was little and I would do something not so socially acceptable, my mom would ask me if Miss America would bite her nails or twirl her hair. Of course my answer was always this sad little "no". But one time I had a different response. "Well, I'm NOT Miss America!" I don't remember what mom said to me after that. I was just so proud of myself for coming up with a semi-intelligent response that I tuned out everything but the euphoric words of self congratulation in my head. This all comes rushing back to me as I realize Miss America would not be sitting at my desk, typing dictation. So no. I'm not Miss America. The window washer can attest to the truth of that statement.

And in the time it took me to type this really silly post, the window washers have washed every window in my now exposure free office. I can now resume...(you don't really want me to finish that, do you?)