There’s no picture today because this post is about my neighbor, who is so close that if he had a telephoto lens, he could see what I was writing right now.

(In fact, he doesn’t even need a telephoto lens, he just needs eyes.)

In truth, I did try to snap a picture of his bathroom window, which is roughly 6 feet from me, as it is the topic of this post, as well as the source of much aural pain. But the damn flash went off and soon, his light snapped on, and Oh Lord, I didn’t want him coming over here and spitting on me.

Because that man can spit.

Let me back up: my neighbor takes about 3 showers a day. How do I know this, you may ask. Well, due to our close proximity, I am audibly assaulted each and every time he cleanses himself. It’s a ten-minute-long concert of gross that starts with a robust inhale, and is followed by a series of phlegmy exhalations. This guy is more mucous than man.

And the thing is: he knows we can hear him. Our kitchen table, which is also my office, the kids’ arts and crafts center, discussion central and oh yes, where we eat, is fronted by a large plate glass window that looks directly into my neighbor’s bathroom window. He sees us and we see him (and sometimes ahem, a second person) showering. (Wait. That didn’t sound right: he sees us seeing him. Not he sees us showering. That would be a password-protected post.) I’ve lowered the shades, but the shades aren’t opaque, so we see outlines, then we move, but we still hear him, and man oh man, my eardrums are bursting just thinking about it.

Maybe he thinks the hacking makes him sound virile? Or, manly? Or, perhaps he’s an aspiring spokesmodel for Mucinex and wants to get good and mucousy before his big audition. I don’t know. I’ve heard of exhibitionists, but this is weird. Maybe it’s a fetish? He can only enjoy his expectorations if there’s someone around to hear it?

Either way, it’s time for me to fight back. I’ve spent weeks gathering my Mucous Brigade and we’re ready for to blow roll.