don't tell me i'm going to have to start wearing pants, roofer ...

for 8-12 hours a day, i do not wear pants. this is not some sort of sexy statement. this is a just a fact: i like to live, sans pants, if you want to get fancy about it. recently chuck told me, in a very quaint way, how he had rediscovered barefoot. "i like not wearing shoes," he said.

well, chuck, imagine that. times six gazillion. with a slight breeze. that is life without pants.

i've been like this through most of my adulthood. to the point where we walked into my apartment after one of our first not-quite-a-date dates. at my house under the guise of watching "fight club" and eating brie and grapes. i walked in my front door, unzipped, tugged, and just before my pants reached my ankles i realized i was sending a strange message. he probably thought i was easy. in reality, i was just home. and home means no pants. not to mention, i just knew that i would have to pee at some point. and peeing is always easier when you don't have to worry about pants mucking up the intricate process.

so i wear pants as little as possible. and my morning ritual involves waking around 11:48 a.m. and sneaking out on chuck's deck for a cigarette. when i come inside, i typically give him a weather report: totally a pantless day [if i was comfortable] or you should probably wear pants [if i had chilly buns.]

chuck thinks his deck is about 25 feet in the air. me, i say 45 feet in the air. you can see the lake and you can see mars and sometimes i feel closer to mars. the only people who could possible see my swimsuit parts are his neighbors to the east, a geriatric couple who buy illegal fireworks and plot trips to the olive garden well before dinner time. they have a window that clearly reveals chuck's basil and tomato plants and could possibly reveal my PG-ratedness. but i'm convinced they don't use this window. it seems to be a closet. and the same sweatshirt has been obscuring the view since the day i smoked my first cigarette, pantless, on chuck's deck.

recently, some roofers have been working on the house across the street. i've tried to ignore the annoyance of steely dan at 8 a.m., realizing that some people don't play wii golf until 4:30 a.m. and sometimes they want to play steeley dan on a sunday, even. loudly. today, leaning against the railing, catching some stray mid-afternoon rays on my crack, i realized we were at the same eye level. this guy was shimmying across the roof. dancing along the peaks. just shingling at a level slightly closer to mars.

"oh my god," i thought. "he can see my cooter."