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The street I live in has about 14 houses - each year we block it off and have a street party at Xmas.

I exchange pleasantries with all of them, and am friends with 5 'houses'.

What I want to talk about is when your neighbour becomes your best friend, and the implications that go with that.

The lady across the street and I have been 'besties' for around 4 years, and I like that she lives so close - most of the time.

There are several neighbourly events I could live without though:

* The time I provided assistance when her son's run across to my place, banging on the door asking for my help because his parents have fought and his dad's bleeding and is he gonna die?
(She threw a vase at him which gave him a nasty head wound).

* The occasions she goes into rather embarrassing detail about her and her husband getting down and dirty in the garage cause they can lock the kids out.

* The time she ran over to my house with a pregnancy test strip asking me to confirm if she's pregnant.

* Each time she tells me stories of her husband's vibrator envy.
Quite funny actually because she gets her little helper out while he's getting ready for work. He gets annoyed, and she asks him to make sure he locks the front door on the way out.

* The time I received an MMS with the message "guess what surprise I've got for you?"

So I opened the message.
To find a picture of her, ummmm...freshly waxed.

My reply along the lines was "hope you have fun then" (what else could I really say?)

"Did my husband forward that to you?" she asks.

"Nope"

"F*ck!!! I've just had 4 other text messages - I sent it to everyone in my address book!!!"

"Nice. Hope your father-in-law appreciates it then!"

Yep. Neighbours.

But there is one more time which is a standout as far as weird experiences go.

Her hubby's out the front as I walk across to visit. He tells me to go in - she's inside the house.

I go in and call her from the front door.

"I'm in the bedroom - come in" she yells out.

So I do. Only she's not in the bedroom, she's in the ensuite.
Sitting on the toilet seat with a mirror in one hand and a set of tweezers in the other. Plucking at her genitals.

"Oh! I'll wait out here and chat to you" I tell her, "but what are you doing?" I ask, if it isn't patently obvious.

"It gives me the sh*ts. My regular waxer wasn't in, I got given some replacement girl who bodgied my Brazilian, and now I have to pluck out the ones she left behind"

"Uh huh. Guess that makes sense. Kind of."

"Can you come and help?"

"I'm sorry, I think I misheard you"

"Just get in here and help - it's too awkward trying to juggle the mirror and tweezers"

"I'm sure your hubby would be happy to oblige"

"Oh, he's a pain. He'd think I was going to want to have sex. Just get in here and hold the mirror, will you? It's not like you don't have one yourself, and you don't have to look, you know"

.....and the argument continued, until against all better judgement, I found myself chatting to her while I held the mirror and she foraged and plucked.

And so here we were, when all of a sudden her husband appears in the doorway.

"WTF?!
" he exclaims

"WTF what?" she replies

"What the hell are you doing?"

"You can see what we're doing, d*ckhead!"

"Yes. I can. I just wanted to know if you're going to be swapping anytime soon, cause I'll hang around."

"Would you just f*ck off! You're the one who says you like it like this, and if it weren't for that little fact, we wouldn't be doing this."

HUH??? Since when did I become involved in THAT??

Yes. Sometimes it would be very good indeed if she lived a bit further away.

• Posted by: Huskynik on February 2, 2007 9:17 AM