I Hate You, Naked Bill
I've been staying with my sister and her offspring in Long Island since I got back from the wedding Sunday night, acting as the stand-in Man of the House while my brother-in-law is away on business. This of course is at great inconvenience to myself, given that my Ghettoplex landlord has kindly agreed to tack on a free week to my rented stay as the closing date on the new place has gotten pushed back to August 12. I could be using this time to pack and clean house-- two of my most dreaded pastimes-- but I will now have one measly weekend to do this, since the demands of my neurotic sister outweigh any personal need I might have.
My sister is terrified to be alone. While this fear could probably be traced all the way back to the womb, it really came into fruition on the occurence of a very strange event that happened to her several years ago, when she and my brother-in-law were newlyweds living in an apartment next door to my parents'.
At that time, Sis and Bro-In-Law shared the building with a downstairs tenant, an aged, retired cop-turned-security guard named Bill. Bill was friendly and polite, yet he mostly kept to himself. Nothing was really known about his social life or any other aspect of his being whatsoever, although Bro-In-Law claimed to have at one point seen a large-breasted whorish gal enter his apartment after pulling up in a fancy car.
My sister has always been a virtual spokesperson for door locks, she being the "bad seed" who was always engaging in some type of delinquent deed that would send my folks to early graves if she was ever discovered. It is virtually impossible to reach my sister without announcing yourself in some way through the other end of a locked door. So when she claims that this particular incident transpired on the one evening that she forgot to check that her apartment door was locked, I believe her fully.
Never a deep sleeper to begin with, my sister sprang up in alarm one night when she heard what could only be a human being wondering around outside her bedroom door, creaking floorboards and bumping into furniture. Terrified beyond comprehension, she violently woke her husband for aid. Just as Bro-In-Law was blinking back from behind the wall of sleep, the bedroom door burst open and a figure stumbled into the room. My sister screamed and my brother-in-law, enfused with animalistic adrenaline, leaped at the intruder and proceeded to choke him. Bro-In-Law was quick to realize, much to his disgust, that the invader was completely nude.
When someone finally had the sense to flip on the light switch, it was discovered that the invasive nudist was none other than Bill the downstairs tenant. Bill was very clearly sleepwalking. Although it's said that you should never wake a sleepwalker, an exception must be made when said sleepwaker is standing in your bedroom after having broken in through your front door with his dick and anus exposed. When Bill finally came to, he was mortally embarrassed and apologetic, but of course he never spoke to the newlyweds ever again.
So, because of Naked Bill, I am forced to leave my life behind for a few days a year so that I can protect my sister's household from Nefarious Nude N'er-Do-Wells everywhere.
I totally hate to do it. I hate being sequestered into a little air-conditioner-less space somewhere in the small house, I hate having to force small-talk with my complete opposite sibling, I hate being unable to flee from her constant berating and shrill disciplining of her twin sons whom I love more than anything in the world, and I hate that I am always forced to do this at the most inopportune time. But such is the burden of family obligation.
And don't think that my brother-in-law is getting away with not helping me move when he gets back from Houston...