(diaryland) April 14, 2009 - 7:33 a.m.

Last night, my piano teacher was bitching to me about her other students and all their parents and how stupid and demanding they are. She does this a lot. Sometimes she'll throw in a little something about myself as well, just to spice things up.

But this was the first time her son has run past the window in his undies.

I have seen my piano teacher's son in his undies more times than you would expect. On occasion, he will walk into the room in his undies and just casually print something off on the computer, or yell at his mum in Russian, probably asking to borrow fifty bucks. Maybe it's because he grew up with people wandering around his house having piano lessons, so his sense of privacy is skewed. I don't really think this is why, but yeah.

So anyway, back to last night, she was facing me, and I was facing her, which also meant that I was facing a large picture window. She was very serious, and I was listening as usual, looking concerned, when it happened.

He was jogging, and the light from the room lit up his pale skin.

About one and a half minutes later, he jogged back the other way. He wasn't carrying anything, so it wasn't like he had just run to the washing line to grab a shirt or something.

I wanted to burst out laughing but it wasn't the right time. I had to keep looking concerned and sympathetic. I did blink a lot. I think I lost about eight minutes of the conversation.