Peeping Painter

There I lay fast asleep, when I suddenly hear a man talking on a cell phone. In my bedroom. Keep in mind that our bedroom is on the second floor of a detached house in a secluded cul-de-sac and that, because of the privacy we enjoy, we sleep with the blinds open. When I was awake enough to realize the guy was outside the bay window, I didn't quite know what to do.

Should I get out of bed and traipse right by him on my way to the bathroom, or should I just pretend I don't see him and crawl out on Nettl's side of the bed, which is closest to the bathroom? I opted for neither. I sneaked out of Nettl's side and went to the downstairs bathroom. It's a good thing I don't sleep el buffo. I don't know what I would have done. Hide under the covers, I guess. By the time I'd made the coffee, the guy was gone from my window. I promptly pulled the blinds closed. When he broke for lunch I went out to the front yard...

View from the front door.

He's storming the battlements!
That's my desk window up there.

Stairway to the Insomniac window.

Later, as I sat here working at my desk, the guy appeared again. While some of you out might actually enjoy waking up to a buff, good looking guy standing in your bedroom window, I wasn't too thrilled. His shirt had red paint all over it that made him look like an ax murderer!