This is about a very close neighbor—who lived right down the hall. Roommate, actually.

It was my first job, and apartment, post-college.  My roommate was vacationing out of the country, leaving the apartment all to myself, at least when I wasn’t working my overtime shifts.

I came in late one night to find a very large pair of men’s underwear (briefs!) laying in the middle of my living room floor.  “Odd,” I thought, a bit creeped out, wondering which of my college friends would play such a random prank.   The next evening about 11, I was in my robe washing dishes at the kitchen sink when I heard a sound in the basement.

I froze.  Creak, creak, creak—someone was walking up my steps from the basement!  I could hardly breathe as my mind raced through all of the recent criminals on America’s Most Wanted.  The door flung open and….there is a very large man, presumably the underwear owner, standing there with a towel slung over his shoulder. “Hey, you must be Julie,” he said.  “I’m Kristi’s fiancé.  Thanks so much for letting me live in your basement (WHAT!?) for the last several weeks.”

And then he proceeded to go into the bathroom and TAKE A SHOWER!

Letting your fiancé live in the basement without even telling your roommate FOR A WHOLE MONTH!?  Not very neighborly! FAIL!