I completely lack a filter when talking about everything except money.
Well, that’s not entirely true. I’ll happily discuss property prices with you until the cows come home. How very Sydney of me.
But I’m hopeless at asking how much things will cost.
I don’t understand how I can be delighted to tell you all about my botched Brazilian, but too terrified to ask how much you’re going to charge me for one.
Hence having to remortgage the house – slight exaggeration – to pay for my professional hair and make-up the first time I went to the Australian Drinks Awards. If I’d been bold enough to ask for a quote beforehand I’d have gone a faint shade of puce and told the salon to forget about it. But no, I just booked it, hid my stricken look when they handed me the bill and pulled out my credit card.
Latest case in point: the water running down my hallway wall.
A very nice plumber came to fix it yesterday and at no point – either before he started work or after – was I brave enough to ask how much it would/did cost.
Still have no idea. I’m just waiting in terror for the bill to be emailed to me.
I know. Not very smart.
It’s the same with bargaining. I’m totally mortified by it. Must be my distant British heritage.
Anyways, the leak – which came from a pipe in the ceiling – has been fixed at an as-yet-to-be-determined price.
It turned out to be quite handy that I was working from home yesterday, as the eldest ended up in sick bay and needed to be collected. They tried to call my ex first, but he’s crook as Rookwood too and didn’t answer his phone.
The eldest’s new school is a fair whack from my place. That wasn’t fun. Hope they don’t end up in sick bay too often.
There was also the terror of walking through the grounds to the office. I blithely headed over in denim cut-offs and went into a complete panic halfway there about it being inappropriate – and embarrassing – for a bit-too-curvy 50-year-old to be wandering around a school in denim cut-offs … and how the eldest would react.
The eldest was unfazed, the women in the office were lovely and it all turnrr out just fine, except that everyone sans the youngest (knock on wood) is sick – my thingie is back, I’m all sniffly and sneezy again.
FFS. Thanks universe!
Are you good at bargaining?
Song of the day: No Doubt “Don’t speak”