You will remember my mental image I had of the woman upstairs.  She walks like an elephant, so Jules and I both naturally assumed she was overweight.  She also pisses us off by slamming things around upstairs and vacuuming non-carpeted floors at ridiculous hours in the morning.  That just made my hideous image of her that much more satisfying.

In my stick-figure drawing earlier this week, she was more of a “log” figure.

You can imagine my surprise, though, when I discovered that the picture I had in my mind’s eye was not even close to accurate.

I was walking out the door the other morning, when I heard familiar thundering footsteps above me.  As I got outside and locked the door, I happened to look up (we live on the second floor of a three-story apartment building), and see the culprit directly above me through the small spaces between the boards in the floor.  She had walked out of her door at the same time I had.  I took my time walking down the stairs, as I wanted her to catch up so that I could get a good look at her.

This is actually a better image of her.

She was a normal-sized gal, probably in her late 30s.  She was dressed pretty decently, and actually wasn’t that bad looking, aside from the scowl on her face.  It was a cross between “I haven’t been laid in ten years,” and “I have to poop.”  She looked like she would eat the head off of anyone who crossed her path.  She also had on some of the biggest heels I’ve ever seen, which I attribute to the commotion we always hear above us.

I don’t understand high heels.  I mean, they look sexy (on certain women), but they cannot possibly be comfortable.  Therefore, I can’t understand the need to wear them at all times while residing in the apartment above us.

My fiancee has recently informed me that she’d rather wear heels if she’s going to be on her feet all day.  When I turned my head to the side and gave her my quizzical look, she went on to explain.  Something about the way it shifts the focus of her weight to from one part of her foot to another.

Whatever.  My preference?  No shoes at all.  The first thing I do when I get home is kick my shoes off at the door.  The first thing I do when I get to work is kick my shoes off under my desk.  Keeping my shoes on all day is completely unfathomable to me.

Maybe she does it just to piss me off.  Some people are like that, ya know…