Marketing 101

It was an unusually warm and humid early September evening in the mid-Connecticut suburbs. We had just had finished dinner and S & D, our hosts, suggested that the four of us adjourn to the cooler confines of their front stairs to continue our post-prandial conversation.

The sun had set thirty minutes before and the street was in the early stages of darkness. Neighbors sauntered by walking their dogs. A barely visible, unlighted teenage bicyclist hurried past. Lights were being turned on in nearby houses. There was no automotive traffic to drown the sound of silence.

S and D mentioned that on the previous evening the quietude had been broken by the caterwauling of a female squirrel in heat -- attempting to drum up interest in her seasonal fecundity. Then a nearby smartass mockingbird answered the tree-rat's plaintive call. The call and response continued unabated at least until S and D lost interest and turned their attention to other matters.

At about that point in time I noticed some movement in the second floor front window of the two-story house diagonally across the street. The white colonial style abode was totally in darkness except for what appeared to be one light in the room with activity.

At first I thought it was my wishful imagination. Then I realized that it wasn't. "I think that I'm seeing a fantasy." I happily announced.

All eight eyes peered at the backlit window and we agreed that what we all were viewing was a woman, most likely fresh from the shower, wrapped in a white towel, preparing to go out for the evening -- either totally oblivious to, or absolutely aware of her public visibility.

S and D decided it was most likely the "girl" who lived there.

We continued to watch. She walked around a little bit and swung her shoulderlength hair back and then forward as she disappeared below the window ledge. When she came back up she was wearing a black bra that she had apparently put on when she was out of sight but which she now seemed perfectly willing to display to anyone willing to look. Which, of course, we were.

A few more hair swings and she bent forward in order to put on some of her below-the-waist clothing. Then she covered up the black bra with a white blouse, checked herself out in an out of sight mirror, turned off the light, and left the room.

A few minutes later she reappeared with a different light shining, looking out the window as if searching for her ride to wherever. But we never saw her leave.

Totally enjoying what I was seeing but still feeling a little slimy about my voyeurism I asked S and D how old the "girl" was. After some discussion they concluded that they actually didn't know but seemed to think late high school or early college. Since my view of the precedings was at least partially a phantasm constructed out of movie scenes, written descriptions, and my own imagination I decided not to feel too bad about it.

The show was over and the bugs began to bite. So we headed inside the house where we all vented about the misleading manner in which Sarah Palin was being sold to the American public, and D introduced Mars and me to the advertising concept of "the purple cow" -- that "the key to success is to find a way to stand out -- to be the purple cow in a field of monochrome Holsteins."

The randy tree rodent never reappeared. It was a little disappointing to Mars and me, but probably a good thing for her. After being mocked the preceding evening, getting totally upstaged tonight might have been more than she could handle.