Years ago, before Dickie and I lived in Chariot Heights, our current, private gated community, the concept of a neighborhood watch took on an entirely different meaning. We had a bachelor neighbor, let’s call him “Gandalf,” who spied on both of us when we were showering. I’ll refrain from describing him, as I don’t want to compromise his anonymity. It all came out when he had us over for drinks one evening.
We sat in his airy, contemporary living room, with floor to ceiling windows and enjoyed Gibsons and and a platter of shrimp cocktail. His view of our neighborhood was stellar. He could see just about everything.
Midway into our visit, he showed us his telescope. As I sucked my cocktail onion, I noted it was a costly piece of equipment and generously-sized.
“How do you handle that thing, Gandalf? It’s so big.” I was genuinely perplexed.
As if he were petting a beloved stallion, he stroked his hand along its length.
“It was really hard, at first, but I’ve become a pro. Practice makes perfect, right, Gladys?” Gandalf chided.
“Yes, it certainly does.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant, so I smiled adoringly at my Dickie, who was dropping a flaccid shrimp onto his pink tongue.
“Do you want to take a peek?” he asked.
Dickie nodded at me and began stabbing at the white ball in his drink with the cocktail spear. It eluded him.
I placed my drink on the glass coffee table and made my way to the massive machine.
I peered through the little hole at the tip and gagged imperceptibly; I hoped.
The rigid lance pointed directly at our master bathroom window.
I stepped away from the telescope.
“Gandalf, did you know that it’s pointed right at our bathroom window?”
He poured himself another Gibson.
“Oh, yes, I know."
His voice sounded deep and silky. I had the distinct impression he was aroused in some capacity.
“You two are fun to watch. You have fun skin.”
Dickie placed his glass on the coffee table and said, “Gandalf, it’s been great having drinks with you. Gladys and I must scoot home. I have to send an email to my men’s accountability group. We’ll have you over soon.”
Dickie and I hastily said our goodbyes and left. When we had crossed to our side of the street, he turned to me and said, “’Soon’ means never. Got it, Gladys? He’s a nutcase.”
Dickie brushed non-existent debris from his sport coat.
“Make him a cherry cobbler and drop it off with a thank you note,” he concluded.
Of course, I obeyed Dickie and did exactly as he commanded. Ultimately, we had an opaque stained-glass window made for that window, but in the meantime, I improvised with a modesty board.
Dearest Baby-Pink Shorn Ewes at the Throne of Grace, the following parcel of my post is an in-depth explanation of the essential nature of the modesty board.
Our world is rife with pesky voyeurs, photographers, and videographers ready to capture the innocence of young ladies, ruining their prospects forever. Obviously, one place of extreme vulnerability is during bath time. However, not to worry! One should be both clean and modest as it is a given that personal hygiene is fundamental to the young lady’s success.
How to accomplish this decently can be a conundrum for those who live in a college dormitory or a house with a window in the bathroom. In the case of the college dormitory, there are two solutions: sponge baths in a closet with a lock on the inside of the door or a loose-fitting, one-piece bathing suit for the public shower stalls.
However, if a young lady is unlucky enough to have a window in the bathroom of her home, I would encourage her to insist the clear glass be replaced with something opaque. If that is not possible because she is as yet financially unblessed, she may cover the window with a device known as a modesty board. Be creative and decorate it with Bible verses or pictures of little puppies or flowers or whatever expresses your feelings about modesty.
Please, police your windows. Do not become a victim of a “Gandalf.”
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