I'm not a little girl
This week was filled with nothing but battles.
Battles with my car. What do you mean empty? I just filled you last week! Have you seen the current prices??. Battles with my hairdryer. It's because I like my curling iron better, isn't it? Battles with Natalie. Honestly, carrot cake, fruit cake, ice-cream cake, no cake, it's YOUR wedding, just tell me which lime-green chiffon hat is mine, and I'll supply the tissue. Battles with customers. Actually, sir, you do have to pay for that before you leave. And I will take action if you don't. No matter how many chat-up lines you try on me.And of course, no week is fulfilling, without battles with my cat. Persy, it's time to show me where you hid my other shoe... Okay, I guess I can wait.
But this week, this week also included a battle with the city.
To make things all straight and narrow I called the city office to see if I needed a permit to change the fixtures in my bathroom. I know governments can be anal about things like that and want to know what's going on at all times. After a very long conversation, mostly me trying to get across that I'm not building an attachment, just rennovating, the woman said she needed to send an inspector to check the work. I had no choice but to comply and frankly, I'd like to make sure it's up to safety codes as well. o I said I'd let them know when it's done so they could send someone over.
So yesterday, I'm only just starting to tear more stuff apart, having a right brilliant time while doing it, with the aid of a reliable how-to book of course, when I get a visitor. Someone from the office. I explain that I've only just begun, as is apparent by my attire, but he insists on barging in to have a look anyway. Fine, whatever. So he looks, and looks, and looks.
And looks. Then turns round, looks at me, and proceeds to tell me everything I'm doing wrong.
I wasn't feeling particularly welcomming at this point so I kind of frostily said thanks for the advice, but I was grand on my own. He said he needed to see my plans, I told him, politely of course, where to shove it. It went on like this for a while before I realised I had no choice. The thing is, I don't really have any plans made up. Just kind of mental images in my brain. But if I told him that I could only imagine his withering look. From the moment he saw me he'd had me pegged as some silly little girl who doesn't know what an isolation valve is. Sure and I don't know a lot, but that's not the point. I've done it before and I have my book. If I need help, I'll ask for it.
From the moment I saw him I knew he was a chauvinistic moron who gets off on authority. Only my first impression was based on much sterner stuff.
So now I have a problem. How do I get him to approve my work without allowing him inside ever, ever again?
Grrrrrrrrrrrr
Battles with my car. What do you mean empty? I just filled you last week! Have you seen the current prices??. Battles with my hairdryer. It's because I like my curling iron better, isn't it? Battles with Natalie. Honestly, carrot cake, fruit cake, ice-cream cake, no cake, it's YOUR wedding, just tell me which lime-green chiffon hat is mine, and I'll supply the tissue. Battles with customers. Actually, sir, you do have to pay for that before you leave. And I will take action if you don't. No matter how many chat-up lines you try on me.And of course, no week is fulfilling, without battles with my cat. Persy, it's time to show me where you hid my other shoe... Okay, I guess I can wait.
But this week, this week also included a battle with the city.
To make things all straight and narrow I called the city office to see if I needed a permit to change the fixtures in my bathroom. I know governments can be anal about things like that and want to know what's going on at all times. After a very long conversation, mostly me trying to get across that I'm not building an attachment, just rennovating, the woman said she needed to send an inspector to check the work. I had no choice but to comply and frankly, I'd like to make sure it's up to safety codes as well. o I said I'd let them know when it's done so they could send someone over.
So yesterday, I'm only just starting to tear more stuff apart, having a right brilliant time while doing it, with the aid of a reliable how-to book of course, when I get a visitor. Someone from the office. I explain that I've only just begun, as is apparent by my attire, but he insists on barging in to have a look anyway. Fine, whatever. So he looks, and looks, and looks.
And looks. Then turns round, looks at me, and proceeds to tell me everything I'm doing wrong.
I wasn't feeling particularly welcomming at this point so I kind of frostily said thanks for the advice, but I was grand on my own. He said he needed to see my plans, I told him, politely of course, where to shove it. It went on like this for a while before I realised I had no choice. The thing is, I don't really have any plans made up. Just kind of mental images in my brain. But if I told him that I could only imagine his withering look. From the moment he saw me he'd had me pegged as some silly little girl who doesn't know what an isolation valve is. Sure and I don't know a lot, but that's not the point. I've done it before and I have my book. If I need help, I'll ask for it.
From the moment I saw him I knew he was a chauvinistic moron who gets off on authority. Only my first impression was based on much sterner stuff.
So now I have a problem. How do I get him to approve my work without allowing him inside ever, ever again?
Grrrrrrrrrrrr