In our building there are 2ish floors: we live on the top, and a woman lives on the bottom. As it turns out, her last name is Timmer, too. Our landlords told us that she's always traveling, since she has her own business, so we won't see her that often. Tom met her not too long after we moved in and reported that she is extremely nice, and fairly attractive... and that she would be having a fairly large dinner party. I think it was for someone's 50th Birthday or something.
J's guests danced and laughed below us, they ate outside, they wore sombreros, played with sparklers and had a great time. Tom and I darted across the house, peering from the sides of windows and trying to find Jane. I hadn't met her yet (I knocked on her door nearly every day, but she was always off in New York or elsewhere for work) and was dying to meet her. Sadly, we couldn't spot her.
Yesterday I went downstairs with Tom and met J. She's beautiful. I also heard a slight British accent. Tom told me nothing of this! But from the googling I'd done and what the landlords said, she was from the area. Oh, she lived in England for 10 years a while back. And I supposed that her constant traveling prevents her from speaking like a Bland Rapidian.
We apologized for the noise we'd been making and she said she has never heard us. Matt Wilson was laughing and stomping just nights before. The woman is a saint. And she was going to be gone again for another week. She'd just been in London (the week before and the week after the bombings) and was going to be at Disney World for a week, doing motivational speaking. And she might be living in Tokyo for a while because of her job. This woman is awesome.
We planned on having an international dinner sometime in August when she'll be around more. She's making Italian. I'm making something French. Maybe Tom and Mark will forget they're invited. Maybe I'll ask her to marry me. She wouldn't have to take my name.