Tonight my washing machine was disconnected. I really am living like a hobo now. Except for being indoors. I was reminded, somewhat unsurprisingly, of having a washing machine connected twenty-five years ago. Then, I was young. I was mainly scared. My faultlessly clean and smoky neighbour Doreen said that I should always wear a wedding ring when workman came in, to stop them getting ideas. Or acting upon them at least.
I hadn't thought about this but it was one more thing to be scared of. So when the man came to plumb me in (stop it) I wore a gold ring on my left hand. It made me feel very awkward. Clearly it worked though as I remained unmolested through the whole procedure.
I'm a little less scared these days. While the indeterminately East European plumber grunted about under my worksurface (oh stop it) I unscrewed a mirror from the wall. It did cross my mind that he might get ideas, even though I am wearing track suit bottoms, but then I thought "Would you really try it on with a woman who was wielding one of her big splendid stolen screwdrivers?"
Fuck wedding rings, you just need superior tools. (OK you can raise your eyebrows now).