I stood on my back porch in a masterful pose, surveying what lay before me. Feet rooted even with my shoulders, hands on hips; the tails of the denim shirt flapping in the breeze that was blowing my wavy brown hair in tendrils behind me. The open denim shirt revealed a snug-fitting brown vee-neck tee shirt that nicely accentuated my best feature and ended about two inches past the waistband of my artistically washed-out jeans. The jeans comfortably hugged the roundness of my hips and the length of my thighs before dropping straight to the floor. I looked down to admire the way the hem of the jeans broke over the tops of my black oxford shoes with the lug soles. The shoes were my favorites.

Looking up from the shoes I took in the disaster that had befallen my back yard - garbage as far as the eye could see. Well, not quite that far; it's a pretty small yard. But it seemed there wasn't a sqare foot of it that didn't contain some garbage. Occasionally the breeze picked up a piece and blew it around a bit, but somehow it never quite made it to the neighbor's yard before it was dropped again. The two metal garbage cans at the edge of the yard on the alley were tipped, their lids missing.

Why me?

Well, that was the fantasy, anyway. The reality was that I wasn't perched on the porch like a goddess in the wind. The shirttails were flapping because the shirt didn't button. The snug-fitting tee wasn't snug-fitting a year ago. And the jeans hugged my hips because my hips were three feet wide and the denim was full of lycra. The shoes weren't fantasy; the shoes were still cool.

The garbage wasn't fantasy, either. The garbage was the handiwork of the neighbor's evil dog - a mangy mutt of indeterminate origin. He was big and shaggy and drooled everywhere. The mutt, not the neighbor. And apparently garbage was his favorite midnight snack.

The neighbor was decidedly not mangy, he was F-I-N-E fine. Like the dog, he was big, I'd guessed him to be just over six feet tall, and his sandy brown hair could be considered shaggy - although he probably considered it to be casually windblown. I hadn't witnessed him drooling yet. With me as a next-door neighbor there was probably an easy explanation for that.

He had moved into the house about six weeks ago. When I bought my house three years ago his house had belonged to a very sweet old widow, Mrs Black. Mrs Black had passed away late last year and after her kids had settled the estate and cleaned the house out it went up for sale. It had been vacant for about nine months before the fine guy moved in. He had a name, it was Nathan, he had introduced himself early on. I'm sure he told me the mutt's name also, but all further conversation was lost as I was committing his name to memory and attaching it to a mental picture of his butt in the worn and faded Levi's he was wearing that day.

I hadn't seen him much since then, I was guessing our schedules just didn't mesh. Which was fine, as all opportunities to interact with him would undoubtedly turn into opportunities for me to make an idiot of myself. I had seen the mutt's handiwork plenty, though. This was the third time he'd tossed my garbage, and I often found other "presents" in the flower bed. I really couldn't complain - my roses had never looked better.

I sighed and went back into the house in search of some big black garbage bags and some garden gloves.

~ ~ ~

I had most of the garbage back in the cans at the alley and was using the garden hose to try and spray off some of the yuckier bits that I just couldn't bring myself to pick up, even with the gloves. Over the sound of the water I hadn't heard the screen door shut next door, but I did hear the 'WOOF' right behind me. I turned around, hose in hand, in time to see a blur of black and white fur bound towards me. His paws had connected with my chest and knocked me over on my butt. In the mud. The hose slipped from my grasp and went wild.

'OSCAR! NO!!'

Oscar. Yes. Now I remember. The mutt's name is Oscar.

'OSCAR, STOP IT!!'

The hose was thrashing around throwing water everywhere and Oscar was frolicking around in the spray. A huge paw came down on my leg, leaving a big, muddy paw print on my jeans. That was the least of my worries. I was soaked. My denim shirt hung limp from my shoulders. My tee shirt clung to me in all the wrong places. I didn't even want to think about my hair. Oscar was splashing mud everywhere. And Mr Fine Butt had managed to get my water turned off and was walking straight towards me.

'Susan, are you okay? Anything hurt?'

Just my pride.

'I'm really sorry about that. I just got home and Oscar was anxious to go out. I thought it was because I'd been gone all day, but now I see he just wanted to play. I swear if I'd known you had the water going I wouldn't have let him run. He loves water.'

Of course he does.

'Let me help you up.' Nathan was holding his hand out to me, feet planted, ready to hoist me to my feet. Now that the water was off Oscar had wandered over by the garbage cans and was sniffing around. He stopped to shake off his coat. Water flew everywhere. Again.

Nathan pulled me up. I was standing inches from him, I could feel his body heat. I was drenched, covered in mud - and now dog hair - and my nipples were standing at attention in the breeze. I hoped to God Nathan didn't look down. He released my hand and I took a step back, tugging the dripping denim shirt back over my chest. 'I'm fine, thanks,' I told him.

'You sure? You've got a spot...' he reached up to my cheek to wipe away a glob of mud. His fingers felt warm on my skin.

'Yeah, I'm good. Thanks.'

'I'm really sorry.'

'It's okay.' What? No, it's not okay! If his mutt would stay out of my garbage I wouldn't have been out here in the first place! That dog should be on a leash! He's a menace.

Nathan smiled at me. What was I thinking? Of course it was okay. With a smile like that you could get away with anything. I smiled back and looked away. I felt like an idiot. I'm sure I looked like one too.

'Um, well, I'm going to go in and clean up,' I said.

'Sure.'

I turned toward the house and walked to the steps while my heart went thump thump thump in my chest. I had to grab the railing to make sure I didn't trip on any of the stairs and look like an even bigger idiot. Three short steps and I was on the porch, and I shuffled to the back door and to the relative safety of my kitchen. Man, I needed a beer.

I grabbed a beer from the fridge, chugged about half of it, and headed for the shower. I wasn't looking forward to my reflection in the mirror.

~ ~ ~

An hour later I was lounging on my couch reading a book with the television on for noise. I had put on a white tee shirt and khaki capris after the shower, and my still-damp hair needed to dry a bit more before I pulled it up in a ponytail. There was a tentative knock at my back door. I padded through the house barefoot and could see through the screen door that it was Nathan. Well, of course it was, anyone else would have come to the front door.

'Look, Susan, I felt really bad about Oscar jumping all over you this afternoon. I thought I might make it up with dinner. Have you eaten?'

What? Dinner? With Nathan and his Fine Butt? Relax, I told myself, he's just being neighborly. Take a deep breath. Chill.

'Um, no, I haven't. Not yet.'

'Well, I'm just getting ready to throw a couple of steaks on the grill. Would you come over?'

I could barely hear him over the sound of my heart beating in my ears. I was surprised he couldn't hear it, too. I couldn't hear myself answer at all, but I think I smiled and said 'sure' because then I went and put on my sandals before stepping out onto my back porch. My garden hose had been wound back up, and the lids were back on my garbage cans.

I could smell the charcoal heating up next door. As I walked across my yard to his I heard the sizzle of the steaks being laid on the grill. They smelled wonderful. I didn't have a grill. Couldn't tell you the last time I had a steak, either.

'Have a seat' he said, motioning to a lawn chair pulled up to a glass patio table. 'Can I get you something to drink? Iced tea? Lemonade? Beer?'

'Beer's fine, thanks.'

'A woman after my own heart.' He stepped inside his back door and returned a minute later with two ice cold bottles. He twisted the cap off one and handed it to me with a dazzling smile.

Now if I could only get through dinner without dying of anxiety. Or idiocy. Or both. I guess if there isn't a For Sale sign in his yard tomorrow morning I can consider tonight a success.

~ ~ ~

Sunlight was pounding my eyelids, demanding that I get up. My brain was pounding the inside of my head, demanding that I stay put and not move. And someone was pounding on my door, demanding that I answer it.

I laid very still and hoped the door pounder would go away as it was aggravating the head pounding. I pulled the sheets up over my head to eliminate the eye pounding. Gingerly I lifted up the corner of the sheets and peeked at the clock: 11:12 am. My head pounded anew.

Logically there should be a time after which you have out-slept your hangover. This never, ever happened for me. I could sleep for days and still have a hangover when I woke up.

The door pounder eventually gave up and left.

Slowly I sat up and waited for the room to stop spinning before attempting to stand. Ten painful minutes later I had managed to start coffee brewing in the kitchen and I was headed for the shower. I avoided my reflection in the mirror over the sink as I swallowed two aspirin before stepping into the steaming water. I stood there forever and let the spray drag the cobwebs out of my brain, and reflected on how I came to have this monster hangover.

Last night.... Oh, good Lord, last night! What the hell did I do? I went to Nathan's for dinner, and had a beer. And then another beer. And another. How many? My head pounded with the effort of adding up to the number five. I panicked, and my head pounded again.

Dinner had been tasty, or most of it had been anyway. Oscar had stuck his nose up on the patio table and made off with half my steak when Nathan had his back turned. It was probably for the best, I was too nervous to eat the whole thing anyway. Oscar got put on a line in the middle of the yard after that, safely away from the patio.

Nathan and I had chatted easily, easier than I would have guessed. After dinner he had gone in to get a long-sleeved flannel shirt to wear over his tee shirt. He asked if I wasn't getting cold, but I thought it was a nice, mild spring evening. I learned he had moved from Texas, which probably explains everything.

Dusk proceeded into darkness and one beer led to another. I have no idea what I said. I opened my mouth and words fell out. I remember laughing, but couldn't tell you at what. Nathan smiled a lot. I think he tried to tell me a joke and messed it up, and after that everything was funny. He has a nice smile, almost as good as his fine butt. I bet he has nice legs, too. Maybe this summer it will get warm enough that he'll go out and work in his yard or wash his car in a pair of shorts and nothing else. With that thought the water started running cold, and I decided it was time to towel off and face the day.

The aspirin and the shower had cleared my head considerably and the smell of fresh-brewed coffee lured me back to the kitchen. With a mug in hand I walked to the front room and looked out the window. No For Sale sign up next door... and a package on my porch. Ah, yes, that must have been the pounding. I opened the door and picked up the package from UPS, the return address indicated that it was probably the vintage Burger King Star Wars collectors glasses I'd ordered on eBay for my sister's birthday. I gave the box a light shake and was disappointed to hear a faint tinkling of glass.

As I turned to go back inside I noticed a sticky note stuck to the storm door. I peeled it off and read: "Have a nice day!" It was simply signed "N".