Thursday, February 12, 2009

Confessions of a window cleaner

Steve was and still is the family window cleaner. He must have been cleaning my parent’s windows for ooh over twenty years. I bump into him occasionally when I’m visiting and he always says, ‘Alright Jane?’ with a look that says I know and you know that I’ve caught you in some pretty intimate positions. He was certainly kept entertained over the years by the sights he saw in our house. One occasion, which has kept me laughing for years, involved my youngest sister Pam.

We had not long been home from school one day and after putting up with my goading for long enough she went upstairs to change out of her school uniform. Every evening I would torment her for a while trying for some fun. I always shot myself in the foot because she’d only put up with it for minutes and then she’d be off. She knew I was after some shits and giggles but she wasn’t prepared to provide them by being jostled about by me.

One such occasion she came downstairs to find me staring at an episode of Blue Peter or Skippy going out of my mind with boredom. In she walked as only the best sitcom actor can. The wry look on her face couldn’t have been bettered by John Cleese or Leonard Rossiter. One eyebrow raised and her mouth cocked to one side which told me instantly that something had happened and I was going to find it very funny. My eyes lit up expectantly. What she next revealed had me beating the floor with peels of laughter. She had been sitting on the toilet staring into space when she began to hear a noise. It was a kind of squeaking noise and it was directly behind her at the window. Her mind slowly began to work. Squeaking noise at a window now what could that be? Oh no! She slowly turned her head and there at the window staring right at her with a look of apology and confusion was said window cleaner. She snapped back round, weed her wee hard and fast, not an easy thing to do, yanked her knickers up and bolted out of the toilet like a frightened pony. Mortified, she came to recount the story to me and having relieved herself of this (other) burden she wearily trudged back to her room. I resumed my viewing, grateful for the humour but disappointed that that was all I was getting.

Moments later I heard Pam’s feet thumping back downstairs, more juice? I could only hope. In she came same look of utter comedy despair on her face. Having slightly recovered from her toilet embarrassment, she wandered aimlessly into her bedroom lifting her school shirt over her head. She nearly screamed as she came eye to eye with the window cleaner who was now at her bedroom window his face filled with uneasy helplessness. Her eyes widened with horror at the thought of her bra looming at him in the manner of the local flasher. She pulled her shirt down like her life depended on it. Face red, head swimming she dashed out of the room and down to older sister to share her nightmare and provide some much needed entertainment.

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