Sunday, November 26, 2017

What She's Having

Certain sounds are positively unmistakable.

So when I walked out of my apartment this afternoon into the hallway to the sounds of a woman crying, "Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, ohohohoh!" from behind the back apartment door, I knew exactly what I was hearing: neighbor sex.

And while we've all heard fake sex in movies, I can't say I've ever heard a woman climax live before. Granted, it sounds just like the simulated variety (see: "When Harry Met Sally"), but it somehow made me feel like an audio voyeur, not that my overhearing it was intentional.

All I needed was bananas and kleenex at the grocery store, for cryin' out loud (intentional, yes).

As I was headed down the steps toward the front door, her shrieks got louder, she reached that final "Ooooooooh!" and I felt obligated to let myself out and lock the door as silently as possible. But why? I'm not the one who was broadcasting my business, I was simply on my way out.

I know some people like a sandwich after having sex, but I'd only heard sex, so what I wanted was a pizza from Galley Market and I couldn't think of a single reason not to drive to southside to get one. I'd been craving another since I'd had my first a month ago.

When I ordered my Bianca pizza -  house Mozzarella, Gorgonzola, Parmesan, garlic, black pepper and olive oil on a crust with the chew of a fine baguette - I told the cashier I felt kind of lame ordering the exact same pizza I'd ordered last time.

"No shame in that," he assured me. "I go back and forth between the Bianca and the Grape & Gorgonzola, so I'm almost as bad."

Waiting at the counter for my pie to bake, I noticed a new piece of red neon announcing "Giustino's Pizza" hanging from the ceiling, an addition since my first visit giving credit to the multi-talented percussionist and pizza-maker who I could see busy in the kitchen through the open doors.

When he spotted me, he came out to say hello and I shared that I'd left Jackson Ward to come to southside for his outstanding crust and pitch perfect toppings. When I told him I've also been telling everyone I know to go eat his pie, he wrapped me in a bear hug, apologizing in advance for getting flour all over me.

What's a little flour between cook and eater?

It was everything I could do to drive that Bianca home before diving in. I thought I might arrive home to hear round two in progress, so I entered tentatively, but all was quiet on the back apartment front.

No shame in that. Sometimes once is enough.

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