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2004-08-14 @ 10:02 p.m.
Maybe I can sustain a gardening tool accident...

Ever notice how the media can never seem come up with a word besides HUNKER when they’re talking about people preparing for hurricanes? I mean, I flipped through three channels yesterday and heard the word HUNKER three timeS. Now why is that? Is that like the official hurricane verb?

I grew up in South Florida as a kid, and I did plenty of “hunkering”. Hunkering was actually kind of fun as a kid. Everyone rushing around buying groceries, flashlights and batteries. Filling our boat we had stored in our yard with water so it wouldn’t blow away. Fortunately we didn’t have to put boards or tape on our windows because we had awnings.

And for some reason, when I was a kid, hurricanes always seemed to hit at night. It was weird. We’d push the couch aside and sit on the floor in the living room and look out at a small space where the bottom on the awning didn’t quite meet the window and watch the eleven palm trees in our yard twist and snap and coconuts rocketing past like projectiles. And the wind would make loud scary howly noises, with things hitting our half barrel tile roof. I’d be scared, sure, but it was scary in a kid-afraid-of-the-dark sort of way. Of course, I was never scared of the things I was supposed to be scared of like hurricanes, fires, earthquakes, only things that I wasn’t...like old men, being asked to play the piano for company, and speaking in front of people.

And then we would always go outside during the eye of the hurricane. It would always just be lightly breezy. The yard would be a mess. Tiles would be missing off the roof. Avocados from our avocado tree would be strewn all over the yard. Naturally my mom would have to scare the be-jesus out of me by saying that the other side of the hurricane could whip up any second and we could all be killed (is it any wonder I’m neurotic?). I guess that was so I wouldn’t wonder off, but still.

I took everything so literally, as I do today, and I would just stand there and wait for this massive dark stormy curtain to suddenly whip up over the edge of the Tait’s yard, and swallow us up and deposit us somewhere over the Atlantic.

Yup, definitely the makings of a creative writer.

Nowadays, the only hunkering I do, is when Married Guy is massaging my thigh. Gotta hunker down, so he can’t tell how much pleasure I am deriving from his hands being so close to the Garden of Eden.

So even though I was told to get bed rest by my doctor Thursday, my bed(room) is next to the air conditioning unit from hell, and I can’t stand to listen to that frickin thing for the 18 hours a day it runs, so I did get into my car and meander a bit. Hit a few garage sales. Found some nice miniature art books, but the nitwit teenybopper who was tending the sale for her mother, wouldn’t let me split up what was supposedly a “set” of art books. Frookin’ hell. They weren’t a set, by any stretch of the imagination. I figured when I looked at them, they’d be like 50 cents each, but no.

So, see ya!

I then hit the library. I am still anxiously awaiting the arrival of my new glasses but I gamely sat and managed to read the latest issue of Rolling Stone. Yay me.

I guess I was still in a reading mood because on the way home I stopped and bought a New York Daily News. Wanted to read about the gay New Jersey governor. Oh what a scandal! Woot! heh! Isn’t Jersey like one of the most macho states there is? Isn’t Tony Soprano from there? My main thought is if the guy was doing his job what’s the difference?

So I took the News outside and was sitting in my little cool 1950s lawn chair in the front yard. Had on my shorts and my favorite pink tank top. You know, the one that emphasizes my small but somewhat cute breast area. And I could hear this soft swishing noise.

Swish....swish...swish...swish

And then I see my neighbor’s head pop up above his fence. The corner of his yard intersects the front of mine.

Did I mention he’s cute? Did I mention he’s a chiropractor? Did I mention he drives a white Mercedes SUV? Did I mention he always makes an effort to say hello out in the driveway (our cars are parked side by side, although his cost about $35,000 more than mine)?

So what was the swish, swish? No, he wasn’t modeling lingerie for the Governor of New Jersey. He was out painting his fence. And did I take advantage of the situation by displaying my goddess wonderfulness in plain view of the cute chiropractor with the white Mercedes SUV?

Hell yes!

I knew he was checking me out. It is my educated guess that he is divorced. I see no wifie coming in and out of the house, but I do see two little girls visiting on alternating weekends. So I lounged rather sensuously out on my cool 1950s chair, pulling down my v-neck tank top so as to display my somewhat delectable cleavage.

Of course I did have my old glasses on, because I was attempting to read the New York Daily News and do the crossword puzzle which took me a good (cough) hour to do. But still. I am the wittykitty. People are bound to gaze.

He did say Hi and smile. He looked very cute in his blue shorts and purple t-shirt. And he did have to come over on my side of the fence to cover a van in our driveway, so he wouldn’t splatter white paint on it. And with that he had to climb up on his ladder to get on top of the van and he had to make a rather hair-raising step between the ladder and the van and his body twisted in a rather pleasing manner.

And I was sitting there, taking this all in, rather surreptitiously, over the top of my newspaper. I know, Bad Witty. heh, heh. I may not be able to see close up, but I can definitely see cute guys leaping between ladders and vans. He made it though. Damn. And I had been so hoping to administer mouth to mouth resuscitation to the cute chiropractor.

I finally just couldn’t fake reading a 30 page newspaper for 2 hours out in my yard so I went in my house.

Oh wait. I think my garden needs some attention. I must go back outside. I must trim my flowers. Yes ...it's a flower trimming emergency. Ok, I just knew he was still painting.

So I was soon down on all fours, writhing trimming the grass along the edge of my flowers. Ok, my trim, finely shaped ass might have just been randomly pointed towards the fence. Snip, snip. Think he’ll notice? Maybe I can sustain a gardening tool accident.

Hey, it could happen.

But, no such luck. My garden is a mere 4 feet wide and you can only snip and point your ass seductively for so long before it becomes apparent you’re trying to seduce your rich chiropractor neighbor. So I finally went in my house for good.

But I did do something that might have added to my incredible, neighborly mystique. I sat down and played the piano for nearly an hour. And I never play the piano with the windows open. But I gave a major concert, playing everything from Broadway to blues to Billy Joel.

Was he impressed? I doubt it. He probably finished painting an hour earlier and was off getting ready for a date with a much younger, much prettier woman, who isn’t afraid to actually come over and start an actual conversation.

sigh.

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Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty

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