Brenda’s Window – Immersed-In-Verse

BRENDA’S WINDOW

I’m Wintry, the Poet, and I live across the street from this amazing three-story Victorian house inhabited by Brenda, who, let’s say, is a vision crafted by the gods themselves. Her bathroom window faces directly onto my lovely rose bushes. I mean, it practically feels like a stage. My day was hectic and filled with manly activities, hiking, fishing, and bear hunting. The worst part of the day was when I lost my prized binoculars.

Anyway, I was out there tending to my roses at 12:30 a.m. on Saturday when I noticed her bathroom light flicker on. Naturally, my male brain went out and stopped braining. I mean, who wouldn’t want a sneak peek? Am I not a man? Is she not a woman? It’s not like I was causing any harm. Besides, Brenda has a fascinating towel collection. I’m talking about Egyptian cotton, you know, the good stuff. She has a bottle of Pantene Pro-V shampoo next to her Olay Shea Butter Body Wash that’s sitting above her Dove beauty bar soap. And, okay, fine, maybe I also have a minor fascination with how people organize their toiletries. Is that so wrong?

So there I was, strategically positioned behind the rose bushes, taking in the scene and admiring the sheer, unadulterated…bathroomness of it all when things took a rather dramatic turn.

Brenda, bless her heart, started doing this seductive dance with her robe. I swear, it looked like a modern ballet set to the tune of a gurgling drain. And then, the robe came off. Suddenly, she was…well, she was not wearing a robe anymore.

Now, this is where the story takes a decidedly downhill plunge. She screamed. Like, full-on, operatic screaming—the kind that makes dogs howl and small children cry. Then, she pointed right at me.

I’m not going to lie; I panicked. My first instinct was to yell, “Bravo!” because her dance, while shocking, was pretty impressive. But my second instinct screamed, “Hide!” So, I dove headfirst into the rose bushes, which, as anyone with a brain knows, is a terrible idea if you don’t want to look like you fought an angry porcupine.

Long story short, within ten minutes, I found myself explaining my “artistic appreciation” of Brenda’s bathroom to two very skeptical police officers. They didn’t seem to understand the nuance of my “observational research.” They kept using words like “peeping” and “voyeurism.” Can we please not?

That brings me to my current predicament. Brenda now gives me the stink eye every time I’m near the sidewalk, and the cops have warned me about… well, I don’t even know. Legal stuff. But honestly? So I was outside her window that happens to be right across from my rose bushes—so what? Is night gardening a crime now?

Seriously though, I truly believed Brenda and I could be friends. Maybe I can even help her reorganize her bathroom. Perhaps another shelve with a hook to hold her hair dryer, instead of leaving it scattered on the bathroom sink? Also, the shampoo holder in the shower looks flimsy and requires more support. And maybe next time, she could verbally warn me before calling the police.

Tomorrow is going to be a nightmare. I not only have to wake up and face the backlash of this fiasco, but, I have to buy a new pair of high-powered binoculars.