When your neighbour is a 'pretty young thing'

Life is so unpredictable. You wake up one day and discover an outrageously gorgeous lady has moved to the door in your second floor apartment. She is as hot as the last thing you can remember. She is mature, 27. Or may be a well kept 30-year-old. Smooth face, not a pimple. Dresses expensively. Has that sexy confidence that money, good looks and brains bestows upon a woman.

You think she is a jackpot, waiting to be hit. The first day you see her is a Saturday morning. 10.07 am. As you dust your doormats in your corner house, she comes up with groceries, you can see a banana popping out the black polythene. She is wearing a sports jersey that looks like it was bought in a shopping spree in Dubai. It is Arsenal. You nod that she at least knows how to make good decisions in life.

You both look at each other for a good three seconds. You are still benumbed by her looks and you are startled when she says, ‘hi’, before she checks into her house. She leaves behind a fresh scent that injects another reason for your existence. What was that! You wonder out loudly.

The following Monday, at the parking lot, she has to remove her car so as you can also drive out. You are driving a BMW. She has a Passat. This morning she is dressed in a dark blue skirt that reveals the best thighs you have seen since 2007.

She has a blue checked blouse and with the August cold, she is carrying a coat. Again she says ‘hi’ and she leaves you even more flabbergasted. She has the confidence that is sexy and off-putting. Kind off tells you that she does not need you whatsoever. Not to fix her light bulb, not to fix her car. Nothing. She has everything. She is mysterious.

Three weeks down the line, you have seen her once or twice. Often you have sat outside your door reading Esquire, but she never shows up. Until you pop in when mosquitoes become insufferable and then you hear her open the door. The following day you promise yourself, you will buy the mosquito repellent.

Only that she comes home too early and you only see her drawing her curtains. The mystery deepens. Who is she? What does she do? Where did she use to stay?

Days pass by. You are getting increasingly desperate. You want a perfect opportunity to chat her up, but her presence is limited. Does she drink? Is she saved? What is her sex life like? You ask yourself all the stuff heterosexual men ask themselves in the presence of a beautiful woman. You have never seen anyone go into her house.

You have to step up your game. You promise yourself and you become aggressive. You want to meet her in a neutral ground without being intrusive. You have to establish if she is single first, lest you find she dates a military general who can pump six rounds into your head.

And then one Saturday morning you see her climb the flight of stairs in that Arsenal jersey and it hits you that football can be a good icebreaker. And so you invite her into your crib.

@nyanchwani

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