Time for a cold shower

Saturday 1 August 2009

I got home from working this morning and-- naturally, and as you might guess-- got undressed straight away. Well-- this is only sensible since I may wear the same clothes when I go in tonight. All our costumes are all natural fibres, which 'breathe' well but also can get somewhat... ripe. I usually change over my shift and stockings from morning to evening... but it's totally 'in period' to wear a gown and bedjacket that might not be so 'fresh', you know... and of course we don't wear makeup and do little with our hair-- no curling, no straightening, no highlights or dye, you know.

When I sat down at the computer the yard-care people were out. They come on Saturdays and are supposed to start at 11 and be done by noon. Of course they work very fast, with their loud whining machines, edging, whacking weeds, clipping bushes and so on. We don't have much here, being on the dune line, but Daddy was very careful to plant scrubby pines and cedar bushes which help hold the sand down. Very few people seem to care about this, making dune erosion such a big deal. (My dad tried to lobby for a reduction in his property taxes based on having so much planted here, saying that 'his' share of the beach maintenance costs, for both these houses-- ours and the rental-- were probably less than some others'. Needless to say they turned this down.)

Someone asked me once if the yard-care guys are good-looking. I don't usually go in for ogling the help. It's low-class. The sad thing is that so many Americans don't understand this concept. Everyone is so 'equal' in the United States that we don't seem to think it's odd for a girl whose father pays labourers to be attracted to one of those sweaty labourers. Maybe having been raised so very English and having gone to school there has altered my way of thinking, and maybe I am just the odd one out then.

All right, there is one cute one... he's about my age, very well-tanned, very well-shaped, with good teeth. I have seen him smile at me before. I said 'Good morning' to him once and then if he happens to see me, like coming back from work in my Colonial costume, he always says hello. I do not know his name though. Part of me wants to make sure I never do.

This morning I happened to look out this window as the noisemaking machines came round this side of the house and he was there. I got very embarrassed and sat back down, away from the window. Of course he would not see me, even if he knew I was up here looking down-- the screen makes the window opaque and it's on the third floor anyway, 18 feet above his head and the yard is only 18 feet wide down there, so he wouldn't have the angle (sorry about relying on trigonometry here) and he wouldn't have been able to see much below my shoulders anyway... but still it is very weird being totally naked in your own room and looking down on the bare back of an ordinarily good-looking young guy, who is known for smiling at you, who is just a decent middle-class guy in excellent health who chooses, to support his university tuition, to labour as a yard-care worker in the summer.

I wonder if I should have a shower now before I go to the beach with Jessy. It would have to be a cool one.

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