Of Curtains and Closure

Because of my somewhat socially limited upbringing, I tend to forget to close curtains, something that invariably means that more people than I'm comfortable with have seen me in my knickers. And while all my knickers are fabulous and perfectly showoffable, this just isn't something a good girl does .
There's a guy living in the building opposite us, the kind of guy everybody knows at least one of; balding, middle aged, single and desperate. He's seen me in my knickers, and quite possibly less- but if I'm naked in the front room of my flat then I'm beyond caring about the resident peeping types. As a general rule, I can live with the knowledge that strangers have seen my knickers, but never before has anybody actually come up to me in the street and informed me that this is so. I haven't quite decided if this was admirable honesty or overtly creepy, but either way I'm going to invest in some curtains for the living room- just as soon as I persuade someone to hire me; my bank balance hasn't quite recovered from the £500 dress I bought last week.
My more outlandish spending habits have got to stop, or I'll be living in a cardboard box by the time I finish university- no more buying outfits to match shoes, jewelry or handbags. Simple as that. Especially as I have no intention of wearing a dress again this winter; sub zero temperatures are not for going out in- they're for sitting at home with hot water bottles, blankets and coffee; I learned this lesson on Friday, when I came within an inch of develping hypothermia- apparently glitter isn't an ideal screen against the cold, nor is a wool coat, and the two combined are a dismal failure.
I might have to train the kitten to drape itself around my neck like a fur stole- fur accessories are at their best when you can honestly say no animals were harmed in the making, and only mildly in the training.