Caution: Euphemisms Ahead

The boy lives in a complex which has friendly neighbors, and is seemingly a place where everyone’s involved in the well-being of the whole place. This complex, you should know, also has exceedingly thin walls.

I think you can tell where this story is headed.

Since my arrival, the boy and I have been getting “reacquainted”. Often. With varying degrees of vocal self-modulation. This bit of information should come as no surprise to any of you, say, over the age of sixteen.

So the other morning we were relaxing on the futon and there was a knock on his door.

Background: The boy has a neighbor here who is from one of the former Soviet republics, and she certainly dresses and acts the part. She is impeccably groomed and has that look about her – do you know that look? The one that says, “Yes, I am friendly woman. Now hand me your cash.” I’ve met her in passing a couple of times, and while she will greet me with words, she will never look at me. She’s actually invited the boy out for coffee and a “chat” while I’m standing next to him. Needless to say, this invite did not extend to me.

I bet you can imagine how much I like this woman.

Background aside: Last night I told the boy that the reason I don’t like her is because she’s predatory. Her predatory nature brings out my possessive side. While I have no doubt she could maim me pretty badly, everything in me wants to shove her four-inch heels down the stairwell, while screaming at her, “BACK OFF! HE’S NOT FOR YOU!”

Back to the story: Said neighbor was knocking, and wanted to discuss with the boy something related to the care and upkeep of the complex. He politely pointed out that he was not “prepared to welcome guests”. “That’s OK,” she said, with a tone that I took to mean that she was planning to come in anyway. I wrapped myself up in a comforter and prepared for the onslaught, but the boy managed to send her away with half-hearted promises to call her later. (I swear to Christmas, she asked for a time for “later”.)

Walking back to the boy’s door earlier in the evening last night, I noticed another door next to his which I had not noticed before. “I didn’t know that someone lived next to you,” I remarked. “Oh, yeah,” he replied. “That’s where [Former Soviet Republic Woman] lives.”

Squee!! I could not be happier to inflict on this woman pure, absolute knowledge that the boy is with ME.