CAUGHT

I mentioned in an earlier post that when I worked as a meter reader, I saw a lot of private moments that were not meant for the public eye.

Unless your power company uses electronic readers or you read your own meter,  someone once a month will be standing outside your house, staring at that device on your wall. Trust me, you are vulnerable to unwelcome discovery.

Often the meter will be located near a window.  Normally the reader could care less what is going on in a house unless they hear sounds that could be interpreted as being someone in pain.  Then they will look, purely out of concern mind you.

I'm just saying, I have been exposed to some strange and private stuff as a meter reader.  However, I have never been on the other end as the observee rather than the observer.

I have a guest house on my property that is about 50 feet from the main house. I use it for an extra place to sleep if  I have company but also for a place to put my treadmill and sewing machine. It is my play house.

This is looking out the door of the guest house while on the treadmill. It is not nearly as far as it looks and the meter is to the left of the red chair.

One thing I do while on the treadmill is listen to my MP3 player with ear buds firmly planted. I have previously mentioned that God saw fit NOT to give me a singing voice for some reason. Maybe it was just an over sight but regardless, I am a horrid singer.

That should deter me from singing but it doesn't, though I do try to limit it to private moments. Tootling down the road in my car with windows rolled up tight, I sing loud, proud and awful. I do love making a joyful noise.  So while I walk on the treadmill, I often sing along with the MP3 songs. It really makes the 30 minutes fly by.

When it was cold, I kept the doors shut and the heat on while using the machine.  That protected the innocents from my singing. Now that the weather is nice, I have taken to working out with the door open and enjoying the fresh air. The open doors funnel the sound towards my house and should protect my neighbor behind me.

This particular day  Shania Twain's song “Man, I feel like a woman”  was cued up.  That is a song that makes me pick up my step smartly. I don't sing all the way through cause I still have to breathe, but I do love the chorus especially the “Oh, oh, oh” part and the last verse.

"Oh, oh, oh, get in the action-feel the attraction
Color my hair-do what I dare
Oh, oh, oh, I wanna be free-yeah, to feel the way I feel
Man! I feel like a woman!"

Using my outside voice I was really bringing it.  I had just launched into the two sylable "wo-man"  when I saw something in my peripheral vision.

There was the meter reader, standing on my porch, looking directly at me with a cross between astonishment, amusement and maybe a touch of fear. He was struggling with his fight or flight reflexes  not sure I whether I should be rescued, run from or was a hoot.  

 I gave him a weak parade float wave to indicate I was all right and let out an embarrassed "heh heh" to prove I was a good sport. Hoot won the competition. He nodded a greeting, grinned really big and  quickly turned his back to me studying the meter.

 I had been caught by the very person I once was. The shoes had shifted.  Naked couldn't have embarassed me more. 

He really worked at being polite but he was losing it. His shoulders  were shaking spastically and I could hear the snuffles of suppressed laughter. He then almost ran as he left my porch and disappeared with the snuffles getting louder as he hurried to the safety of his truck. 

After he left I got the giggles. Poor fellow, he could have hurt himself trying so hard not to laugh. I let that image replace the one of me bellowing.  

Now that I look at the picture of the view from my guest house, I realize my new exercise bench is right by the meter. Goodness, I would hate for him to come around the corner some morning with my legs  in the air while  I am grunting. I'm not sure how much this poor fellow can take. 

Think I will  call the company to find out when he is due to again read my meter. Prevention is the key here to keep what is left of my ego in tact.

Have you ever been caught (figuratively or maybe literally) with your pants down by a stranger?