Bitch

That’s what I was called today by Claude The Old Letch. He’s a neighbour of ours with not much better to do than chat up “beautiful young ladies.” He lives a few houses down in a home. Most of the residents have little to do. They like to stop us for a chat. The thing with Claude is he’s “concerned” about us. I don’t know if I’m of particular interest because I’m depressed – he knows all about that - (“beautiful”), and unhappy about my work situation. He always tries to get you to have coffee with him. My sister and I did once. I think because we don’t give anything away he makes way too many assumptions. (The other thing is the chats become lectures). For example why don’t we have boyfriends? We’re not “funny” are we? It’s hard not to roll your eyes at that one. And for God sake there’s only so much time you can half-heartedly flirt with someone, or rather be flirted at.

I had stuff to do when I got stopped by him this morning. I was on my way to the post office to fax a resume for a job. Oh I love talking about getting a new job with him! “Why can’t you get another job?” Or rather, What’s wrong with you? There’s sympathy and understanding – he shows me his scars from cutting his wrists and I show him mine – but at the same time a bit of blame laying for being shy.

Yes I freely put my hands up to being shy but what he’ll never know is I’m not shy with everyone. There are things that just aren’t any of his business. I’ll listen to his stories but at times the implied sexual content gets very uncomfortable. I don’t want to hear his stories of past conquests or the fact that he’s always liked younger women. I’m cringing even now.

I didn’t lose my temper but I did tell him I was going now. He called me a “bitch” but it wasn’t nasty. I said “I don’t care” and walked off. And I really don’t. If anything I have something to use against him now. Yea!