Peeper

"I am so incensed."--Jude

Ever been peeped on? In our delightful little Mid City doll-house, I'm resting my service-industry legs on the living-room couch, surfing the internet, tweaking my blog to perfection, etc., when some lanky scraggly-haired white dude peeps in my front door window. Now, of course, I'm sure he's Jude, as he and my roommate are due back from some bywater haunt. Then the face is gone, and I return to my work, expecting to hear jangling keys and door-knob negotiations post-porch -cigarette.

Fifteen minutes later, Jude and Betsy arrive home. "You scared the shit out of me, Jude!" "What are you talking about?" Etc. Back and forth. It wasn't Jude!!! Jude and Betsy go to bed.

Fifteen minutes later, in my same position on the couch, wondering if I ought to relocate--the face returns to the window! "Stop it!" I scream and run into Betsy's room, picking up a loose hammer to hold in my hand for security. "We're calling 911," says Betsy. Jude dials:

"So, the door...it has a window in it...there was this guy....Kate?"

"Yeah, give me the phone."

The police are there in five! Wow. We greet the middle-aged, mustached officer on the porch, and Betsy and Jude deliver slow, perfume-drenched accounts. I describe the guy--"She thought he was me," explains Jude--and officer dispatches two of his boys to drive around the neighborhood. A few words of wisdom, and the officer leaves us, we retreat back inside.

"Let's peeper-proof the window," says Betsy.

We thumb-tack a sheet to the window, and then laugh about "peeper-proofing" for a little while.

Betsy wants to go to bed, but Jude is pissed. "I was so drunk when I got home, and now I'm completely sober, I want to kill someone, I want to murder him."

"Jude, you should start lifting weights," I say, and then quote my favorite rapper for emphasis: "'I'm drinking milk, baby, I'm working out, and I want to love you with my mouth.'"

"No, no," he shakes his head at me, "That doesn't even matter. It's the sheer aggression that gets it done."

"Jude I have to go to bed," wails Betsy.

"I am so incensed."

"Let's watch a movie," I say.

We settle on The Muppets Take Manhattan. Kermit is so endearing, and Animal is hysterical. We all fall asleep together on the living room floor.


So, I ask, what the fuck is the deal with peepers? Are peepers a thing? I never read about peepers in the police blotter. What does the peeper want? Just a look? Just the tip. It should be a song, like Tubthumper.

Ever had a peeper experience? Do share your stories below.