Meeting the Neighbors

I successfully delivered the brownies to the new neighbors yesterday. The wife was really gracious, and I think she was happy to get them.

(Side note: I found out later that she used to be a newscaster. That would explain why she was also so poised and polished!)

I think it was worth the risk of becoming a near-stalker to meet and welcome them. And I learned that a good way to meet your neighbors is by bringing them baked goods.

Unfortunately, this morning I also learned the way that you definitely don’t want to meet your neighbors: while wearing your pajamas. More specifically, your red pajama pants with polka dots.

Exhibit A.

So, this morning I wanted to go outside (just for a minute!) to water the plants. It seemed like a waste to change clothes, go outside, then shower, and change clothes again.

I took a quick peek outside and didn’t see a single soul. I asked myself, “Really, who am I going to see?” (I should know better than to tempt fate like that.)

I decided it was safe to go outside in my pajamas.

As soon as I got outside and turned on the hose, our street turned into Grand Central Station.

First, the neighbor that lives two houses down from us that I had never seen before walks right by me! It’s a mystery to me why I never saw her on one of the 300 occasions I was outside in normal clothing during the seven months we’ve lived here. How nice that she’ll probably remember me forever as the gal in the red and white-polka-dotted pajamas.

Less than five seconds later, the neighbor across the street came out of her house. Then a truck started to drive by.

Before my plants could get their fill of water, I had my fill of humiliation. I turned off the hose and ran inside.

It seems that pajamas, even more than brownies, are a sure-fire way to guarantee seeing your neighbors.