A crew of carpenters and painters were assigned to renovate the houses in our street. They worked from 7.30 AM until 3.30 PM. Already at the start of their day they pounded on our door to ask if we could open our windows and doors.
They would ask our neighbor later during the morning, because she was 85 years old and they felt sorry for her to wake her that early. If only they knew.
The carpenter asked me why I was at home during the days they were working. At that same moment a painter started talking to me, so I could pretend I didn’t hear the question. I don’t know what my answer would have been. I don’t feel ashamed for being ill, but it is not very easy to explain. I could have told him I was nearly as old as my neighbor but thanks to plastic surgery I still looked like a 34 year old. It is not that different from reality (I feel like a 85 year old), but somehow I don’t think he would have believed that.
It were only men that were working on this mini makeover. And all but one looked like they were six months pregnant. As you will know, the appearance doesn’t tell you that much. I didn’t look ill, even though I was and still am. They looked like they were expecting a baby, but that would be a rarity or even a mission impossible! Being fat should not make an issue, as long as their work would be done properly. And if they would behave…
When all of the outside part of the house except the front door was done a painter came by he asked me ‘could you leave this door open for the rest of the day, missy?’ Missy?! I have had feminist frustrations ever since my allowance was stopped and I was financially depending on my partner. This was just another incident to get my feminist blood pressure rising. Good thing that he was the last of the crew and that the work was done.
By now this street also has fiberglass cables. Small, but at least one meter deep canals were dug to put the cables in. This was also done by men only. These were less fat, but made the same amount of noise and worked during the same hours of the day. Thankfully we didn’t have to open windows or doors.
Right now the only thing left is the connection of the fiberglass cable to our house. When a man knocks at the front door to fix this, I surely hope it is not at 7.30 AM. Or that he calls me ‘missy.’
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