D’oh.

So there I was basking in my new, apartment-wide heat. I was wearing nothing but my super-see-thru Audrey Hepburn t-shirt (worn under a sweater today), a white bra (seen thru the shirt), thick, cable-knit thigh-high socks, slipper-boots, and a pair of underwear. I don’t normally walk around my apartment so under-dressed unless I’m looking for something to wear, but I was so delighted to find heat when I came home tonight that I whipped off my clothes as soon as the front door shut and ran around enjoying the fact that I could be half-naked and not freeze to death.

From there, I just got lazy. I washed dishes, started dinner, and whipped out my camera to take pictures of the new digs for you guys, and still I didn’t put on any clothes. I was siphoning marinara sauce into freezer bags–still half-naked–when there was a knock on my door.

“One moment!” I cried, dashing into the living room to find my pants. I put them on and zipped them up just before opening the door. There stood my downstairs neighbor, who is, as I assumed, a guy. I had not assumed that he’s a very cute guy, but that’s pretty much beside the point.

He’d come to introduce himself. He offered to help me move if I need it, told me he’s a professional photographer, asked where I was from, where I worked, told me he likes the house we now share–likes it so much he’s been here four years–said we should hang out, and then left.

I closed the door, smiling because, hey, knowing your neighbors is not to be taken for granted. Then I realized that, while I had remembered to put pants on, I had not remembered to throw a sweater over my see-thru Audrey Hepburn shirt. There was my white bra, screaming through the fabric, in no way unnoticeable to anybody with at least one working eyeball.

And in case you’re wondering, he maintained eye contact. He may listen to techno music with the subwoofer on 11, but he is, at least, a gentleman.

I don’t want to be friends with me today. *headdesk*