“Would you look at that?” he said, gesturing with his coffee cup toward a building directly across a courtyard. I looked over his shoulder to take a peek and saw our neighbors walking around in their eighth floor apartment wearing…nothing.
It was a young couple—both of them fit models, from the looks of things—and over the next few days, as they moseyed nakedly from room to room to cook, type on computers and watch TV, I had but one thought: privacy.
“They don’t seem to care about that,” my husband said.
“Not for them, for us,” I said.
We eventually hung a shade on that window, as well as on the others in the apartment. But when we closed the kitchen shade to block the Nude Parade, we lost the sunlight, too. As well as our (distant) view of a tiny sliver of the Hudson River.
So now we keep all the shades up, and try not to stare, remembering how Jimmy Stewart’s binoculars got him into trouble in “Rear Window.” But I have to admit there is something kind of mesmerizing about seeing someone vacuum in the nude.
“If it were me, I’d worry about that suction hose,” my husband mused.
Sometimes I wonder, though: Who’s ruder, the nudes for inflicting their nakedness on the neighbors, or me for watching?
(image via msn.com)