I met my saucy neighbor, all of 20, on the stairs. The conversation went something like this.
“Hey, how are ya,” she said, her dress hiked high above her fleshy thighs.
“I’m okay…tired…worked all day. Now too keyed up to sleep so I’m cleaning a bit. Tossing things out.”
“Really? You’re cleaning? Wanna come with me? I’m goin dancin at a club with my friends Emily and Raquel. We have passes.”
She was simply aglow at the prospect of getting in somewhere for free. I thought, youth, despite its gaudy grandeur, has a purity to it the way her eyes glistened with disco promise.
“No thanks. I’m about to tackle my lingerie drawer packed with so much stuff I never wear.”
“Really? Stuff you never wear…weren’t you a model? I’ll bet you have some really cool stuff.”
“I do, and for the record…I’m still a model who doesn’t necessarily need 300 thongs.”
“Would ya mind if I hung around, while you cleaned?”
I had to laugh at the way her face lit up thinking of secondhand undies.
“No, by all means, come upstairs, and if there’s something you like, it’s yours. But what about going dancing?”
“Well, if you’re fast, I can still go. But if not, that’s okay. We can just order a pizza and hang out.”
Youth, like I said, there’s a purity in it, even if you have to stretch your imagination, like a thong, just a little.