This week I was like a proper grown up and managed to secure a window cleaner at a good rate. I spotted a couple of guys cleaning the windows of the house opposite and decided to strike. I opened the front door and shouted out 'Excuse me, are you window cleaners?' Nothing gets past me. They admitted that they were indeed window cleaners and I could tell that they were impressed at my working knowledge. It was decided that they would come round the next day to clean the windows and I thought no more of it.
I thought no more of it the next day either. I made myself tea and thought no more of it. I had breakfast and thought no more of it. I pottered about the house and thought no more of it. I read a bit of my book and thought no more of it. I attended to some business on the computer and thought no more of it.
Then I went for a shower and thought no more of it.
Half way through my shower I thought a lot more about it.
Half way through my shower as I'm idly conditioning my hair and trying decide whether or not to shave my legs some bloke comes right up to the window and starts cleaning it!!
This is my shower: It's in the downstairs converted 'cloakroom'.
As you may note the shower/window is in close proximity. My eye level reaches the window ledge. The window is obviously mottled or whatever and you may well ask: 'why no blind'? We haven't found the right one and we have done a 'naked body sight test' and you can't see if anyone is in the shower from the outside but if someone is close up cleaning a window you would definitely make out nakedness.
So to recap, I'm conditioning my hair, deciding on leg hair removal (been married two years, it's not so important) and a middle aged man is shoving a squeegee all over the window. Not to mention I was singing along to the radio up until the point of window cleaning action.
I did the only thing I could do and sank to the floor, pretending that I just hadn't been singing loudly and wishing that I'd showered earlier rather than being joyous and carefree. I also wished I was fully dressed. Now I was kneeling down in the shower, trying to rinse my hair and panicking because I had to unlock the back gate (NOT a euphemism) and I somehow had to get out of the shower, get upstairs and get dressed so I was decent. Although by that point I might as well have just unlocked the back gate naked and brandishing my razor or something.
In the end I managed to crawl out of the shower and thought it inappropriate that the dog was staring so much whilst wagging her tail. I got upstairs in one piece and put on some clothes before unlocking the garden gate. I wished that the teenager hadn't left all his pants and socks on his bed with all the rest of the debris on there. It looked like his room had been burgled. I thought 'What would the teenager do?' So I got the duvet and covered the mess with it.
In conclusion I underestimated the dangers of having window cleaners. They come round again in about ten weeks. I won't shower for the tenth week, just in case.
