Rhonda Perky goes under the covers to discover if the end really does justify the means.
I arrived home yesterday to find the house in front of mine tomb-sealed. Blinds drawn, disco soundtrack blaring, but no sign of parked cars to signify a typical suburban party - those were around the corner.
I turned to my friend. 'Suppose they're making a porno?'
Eyebrows quirked. 'Or hosting a sex party.'
A young couple in an ordinary street in central Boganburbia, no kids, working all hours to fend off the bank? It could just be.
'How much do you suppose they charge?'
'A few hundred bucks a pop. Although they'd have to provide a few nibbles and drinks, screen out all the single guys and voyeuristic weirdos...' Then sit back and watch everyone get their kit off.
I step inside my own pad. Not too big, but not too shabby either. Perfect for suburban parties if you don't mind everyone piled on top of each other - or wait, that would be the point :)
I might just pay off those renos sooner than I thought...
-RP
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