One of our female members is a tall, strong, stalwart Dutch lady in her mid thirties. A trained scientist, astute philosopher and nobody's fool, she is not one to sufferth the fool gladly. She reported this today, which I pass on verbatim.
fenceposts for an espalier etc., cycled past ********** on my way to work. I wear sensible cycle gear, looks like a lighthouse but doesn't get me run over. The helmet does not flatter the shape of my face, neither does the reflective jacket provide an eye-soothing contrast to my rather flushed face - remember I've been cycling. It's been uphill and I am feeling really hot (you bet).
day. And I am being served by this little runt who is nearly a head shorter than me and looks like he is right out of primary school. So I ask for prices. He doesn't know them. He doesn't know how to find out what stuff costs either. But he has taken my measure alright. Like he realizes I have no car, I am on my own. No, I'll not come back with my husband later, no, not with the boyfriend either.
No, I don't think I need a man in my life, thank you very much. (Thinking " look boy, I can swing a sword, I can swing a spear, I sure can swing a hammer".)
No, I just have an allotment. I like gardening. I like gardening on my own. Now can you get me a quote for those fenceposts or not? He keeps inquiring into my personal life. He offers to deliver the stuff to my allotment in his private car after work. He offers to put up a shed for me. He mentions "Just having fun". I eventually loose it and say with my usual sledgehammer sense for tact: "Look at me kid, I am old enough to be your mother. I am twice your weight. I am twice your age (and possibly twice your IQ as well). This is the moment where you give up because I am not interested." He is totally unphased and says: "My last lover was forty, and at first I was a bit nervous but then it was really good."
drugdealers in St.Pauls, homicidal deranged patients and my own mother, but I tell you the next thing I remember after this is me stopping at traffic lights two miles down the road. If you hear reports of a cyclist shooting at supersonic speed out of a timber yard, that's me.
I knew you'd like it ;o))
Regards,
Kim Siddorn