Member-only story
The Housepainter
Colleen stands in the front yard, stepping back to survey the house painter’s progress. He’s been rude and insulting since the second day he started this project, when she began to speak, and he interrupted with, “I don’t tolerate any of that feminist crap!” She froze, stood staring at him in shock and incapable of speech. Since he’d started painting the house, she didn’t fire him on the spot… and she’s been regretting that ever since.
Colleen continues to dread his presence on her property. He’s been taking forever working on the house, and she suspects it’s so she’ll pay him more. His energy on her property makes it feel less like her property, and she’s disturbed at the knowledge that this asshole knows where she lives. On that second day, she had to take several deep breaths before interacting with him.
As a playwright, she often works at home. She doesn’t think he could be trusted on her property if she isn’t home, so after he leaves for the day, she sometimes goes out to do errands or take a walk… and puts a padlock and cord on her driveway gate, in case he gets ideas.
“What are you looking at?” The housepainter barks.
Colleen jumps, startled. She wishes the home improvement apps specified level of creepiness, sexism, and aggression. She straightens up and reminds herself of her power. “I’m looking at my house, because this is my…