Look ma', no pants! Also, you maybe don't want to move in next door to me.

I think I might hate pants.

To be fair, I think I might hate shorts, too. And skirts. And basically anything that’s not just my plain old adorable underwear. Also, I only hate these items when I’m safely in the privacy of my own home. I mean, I’m a lady, guys, c’mon.

However, my problem lies in the fact that, if left to my own devices, I become the crazy cat lady who stays indoors for hours at a time with no pants on, cleaning, reading, generally just enjoying a pants-free lifestyle while simultaneously becoming the person I am on the outside: completely f'ing oblivious.

And therein lies the rub.

You see, it’s possible that I sometimes forget that I’m not wearing pants. And one might think this would be hard to do, but it’s surprisingly easy! Oh, also, this is why it has shocked all of my friends and family that I’m able to somehow live alone and not, you know, die. Or get arrested for indecent exposure.

Anyway, totally unrelated, this weekend I met some new neighbors in my building. Please note that I’ve lived in the same apartment for almost a decade and have met about 4 people that entire time. Not because I’m anti-social, but because this isn’t an environment where neighbors really meet. We don’t have shared common space and I don’t cook here, so I never need to borrow butter or flour or whatever it is people use to cook. And apart from the year that the people who lived above me played some sort of jumping up and down in place game for 6 hours on a Tuesday or Wednesday night for an entire summer, I’ve never been the person who pounds on the ceiling with a broom. Allegedly. So really, how would one meet their neighbors?

I’ve got one answer for you.

You see, on Saturday I went into one of my Tasmanian Devil-like cleaning frenzies where I literally spend hours just cleaning everything and anything in my apartment. And that’s one of my most favorite pastimes, likely because I’m intensely cool. But it was also warm and humid this weekend, especially in my hotbox of an apartment where any heat that comes in gets multiplied by a billion and then just sits in the air. Hence, the no pants thing.

I mean, on a normal day it’s pants-optional in my household, but on a day like that it was just a given. And while I’ve been quite the risk-taker in my day, I’ve never really been an exhibitionist. Except for maybe that one time I lifted my dress in church during kids time up in the front of the congregation where all of the little ones gathered to listen to Bible stories. But I was super little and that’s adorable when you’re super little. And also not at all frowned upon by Jesus.

You can totally tell  that I am NOT happy about the pants-wearing. However, I was digging the faux fur collar.

But this weekend, I wasn’t even being told church stories and for whatever reason, I basically lifted up my dress to my neighbor. Except I did it in the form of just walking into the hallway without pants on. Like a crazy person. If I’d had curlers in my hair and lipstick around the outside of my lips, it’d totally make sense. But instead, I was just wearing a tank top and, might I add, some super-cute underwear. Cuz that’s how I roll.

Alright, brace yourselves because this is how it went down:

Me: walked out into the hallway, sans pants, carrying a garbage bag.

Neighbor: walked out of his apartment at the same time, looked at me, and immediately turned around, I think potentially laughing. Probably out of horror and utter shock.

Me: Stood there for a second, secretly judging my super-antisocial neighbor. Fast-forward to two seconds later when I looked down, yelped, and ran back into the apartment with the garbage.

So let’s just have a moment of silence for that encounter.

Aaaaaand you’re welcome.

Scene of the crime. Except in this photo, no neighbors were scarred for life. Allegedly.