This chapter is ostensibly about the day my tap went kaputt and I went on facebook for advice and help, and a bit of sympathy, and maybe an offer of help from some Good Neighbour who would take pity on a DIY eejit who is barely allowed to do the back fill bricks and is never allowed near the front stretchers. That’s a bit of a dig at the brick laying folk at the dear old canal camp restoration lark. As it goes I bet I *could* lay a brick but here’s the thing; I seriously truly cannot bear to be ‘told off’ or ‘get it wrong’.
A little girl inside me that is always there and used to dread being castigated for her klutzness and ineptitude. And always was.
So anyway back to yesterday: having flagged up my distress I suddenly get a pm ( this is fb -speak for a private message) telling me to send the person my phone number. I already have a bad feeling about this like, who is this, no intro or niceties. So I reply: Hello is this X? I recognise the name, he’s engaged to Y. Then begins a series of unexpected and rather disconcerting exchanges on the phone. I hate speaking on the phone anyway, everything happens too fast and I get flustered and start babbling. So now I am in a nightmare of mine where I don’t know how to answer, I don’t know what sort of tap it is, I can’t reply quickly or accurately enough and get told to stop talking while he talks, which I guess would be OK except I didn’t initiate any of this, and actually wouldn’t be OK in any parallel universe I want to live in.
My stomach starts churning and I can feel a fear and panic I haven’t felt for decades.
So eventually after trying to send photos and being ordered to find some on amazon to send I’m thinking- sorry why am I doing this? I didn’t ask for this- did I? Maybe I did? I guess if I send out a vague message asking for advice to the big www someone will assume I want to be told what to do, from a long distance, by phone. And get all narky with me and start issuing peremptory commands. Or that’s how it felt to me. I’m sure they are lovely and trying to help. Well, they are, but it felt awful.
Jeepers. The whole thing got me thinking a number of things:
- I really really hate being bossed about. Or told what to do. I guess everyone does but I can feel myself going into meltdown.
- Why does X have to be like that? Was I making it happen because of how I was? Are they always like that? And aarghh
- Keep away from all men. Except for my relatives, the DWT folk, the BSC folk.. oh OK, a few men are OK then. Oh and my very great friend who came and fixed the tap today! Yayyyyyyyyyy
So the story ends happily, but I wanted to tell you how I felt.
Thanks for listening.