Accidental meeting of the neighbors: How do you do-do?

 I was literally in the new San Diego apartment for less than an hour. How is it possible that I could humiliate myself, my family, and a complete stranger in that time?

I waited thirty-six hours before breaking down and confessing to my husband. "Do you want to hear an embarrassing story?" I asked him sheepishly over the phone. I had already told my girls and they were still howling with laughter so it was just a matter of time before the news would inevitably reach him. Better to get ahead of that train. "You already told me about how you tried to check in with the wrong airline," he reassured me. Great. I'd already forgotten about that degrading little debacle. "No," I paused, taking a breath, "I'm not talking about that." Brad gave a nervous little chuckle. "You haven't been there that long...what could you have possibly done?"

Oh boy.

"Well...it really wasn't my fault," I started (It actually was), "I didn't realize the number of windows in the apartment and all the mirrors." "Oh no," Brad murmured, "What did you do?"  "Plus I wasn't aware of the close proximity of the surrounding apartments," I continued. "Just tell me," he moaned.

There is an episode of Friends where Joey leans out his bedroom window to join his overly-cheerful neighbor in a chorus of "Morning's Here." I realized (belatedly) that Savannah and Sydney's apartment is set up court-yard-style with adjoining balconies parallel, diagonal, to the right, to the left, and across. Did I mention there are windows and mirrors EVERYWHERE? Just yesterday, as I stood at their kitchen sink, I could make out the grill marks on the guy's burger across the narrow alleyway as he cooked his family dinner. Should I have been more aware? Absolutely. Is being raised is relatively rural isolation an excuse? No.

"Maybe he didn't see what I think he saw," I thought to myself in a panic. Savannah had just dropped me off at the apartment and after a long, cross-county flight fraught with anxiety, I had sought a moment of...contemplation. I didn't shut the door. I was alone. I thought. Suddenly, I glanced up to catch the reflected eye of the startled neighbor in the mirror posted on the outside of the bathroom door. I teach 4th grade geometry. Angles. This angle couldn't have been more obtuse if I'd tried.  An innocent bystander, now scarred for life; he stumbled from his porch landing into his own apartment while I began the Four Steps of Shame. 

#1: Denial (I was, and still am, on a continual loop back to this step) -I'm sure he didn't see anything. Sure, it felt like his gaze pierced my very soul but looking through windows from the outside can be tricky. I made the girls re-enact the scene multiple times with me. "How many fingers am I holding up?" I'd ask. "Two," they'd report and then erupt into immature giggling.

#2: Blame- How dare the neighbor have eyes! Who posts a long mirror on the outside of a bathroom door? Why wouldn't the rental unit have installed one-way glass if their units were situated so close?

#3: Self-righteous indignation-What's the big deal? Everybody does it! If this were a Shakespearean play, a tragedy, if you will, it would be called Much Ado About Poo.  Stop laughing! Are you telling me that you've never experienced an embarrassing potty problem? Get over it, already.

#4: Acceptance- "This could only happen to you," Brad finally said. "It's really not the end of the world," I shrugged, finally having come to peace with the situation. "What are you going to say if you run into him though?" Brad wondered. "I've thought about that," I admitted, "I'm hoping I run into him in a bar. If so, I'll walk up to him and ask, Is this your stool?"