Why is it when you’re nice to someone (normally a stranger of whatever persuasion) do they automatically think you fancy their arse? *ROLLS EYES*

I have been having the boiler replaced – stay with me, we’ll get there, there is a connection.  In fact I’ve had to remove a twenty foot oil painting to prepare for them to knock out a wall which when built had the flu of the boiler concealed behind it.  So the cunt back then, whoever they were, had no thought that one day, just maybe (because of course council appliances last forever so why would they even need to have the foresight to consider what happens in the future)

Anyway, the lack of foresight meant that I had to find a friend to help me remove the painting, the same friend who helped me put it up over thirteen years ago, which was no small feat  even then.  That sized painting couldn't go anywhere in or out of the flat without first being cut into half on the base frame and folded in half to move it.  Coughing and spluttering with 13 years of dust we managed it.  And finally yesterday the old knackered, sagging tit, grey haired, wrinkled, rusting boiler (sounds like me) was replaced with a small, sexy, digitally configured boiler with blond hair and big boobs was installed. (My dream)

Don't get me wrong, I was happy it was finally being replaced with one week of annual leave in exchange for hot water which stays constant and doesn't burn my fat arse, or freeze my cunt on showering was worth the wait. But I hate having workmen in my flat.  So my stress levels were up.   It feels like an intrusion and invasion, so it was a big deal for me to finally get it all sorted.  After speaking several times with 'Carol' (site manager and suspiciously dyke-esque – whatever that may mean) I could tell straight away this wasn't a woman to fuck with, either by me or by the men she works with.  She was easily charmed with a ‘haven’t you got a sexy voice’ line which I save for some of the harder to crack straight birds and fell about laughing almost professing her love for me right then and there… (Yeah right) She arranged a very loose appointment and told me she’d get back to me, which she didn’t.  And so the chase began.  Having tagged her several times and she forgetting the compliment I threw her, which normally lasts longer than one week of remembering who I am... After four visits of the red tape brigade who calls themselves surveyors (I call them arse wipes who think they can keep knocking on my door at 10pm at night) I got a date (for the boiler) booked and hip fucking hooray, the day finally arrived yesterday. 

I thankfully got two sweet competent blokes who took their time and spent a full day finishing the work and making sure I had hot constant water for me when they left.  The floorboards where pulled up (no one told me about that) and the dust of many years came to the already dust filled surface, the loft was infiltrated and I felt more and more like my knickers had a few hands rummaging down there without my knowledge or permission.  Lordy have mercy on my soul, I need to have a wipe down and not because I felt wet with the pleasure of dust all around me...

The job was left with a gaping 6 foot hole in the wall where I could see a new, clean dust free flu ready to be encased for another (I hope) thirteen year by the builders.  No one told me when or what time, but then guess work and Columbo don’t come cheap in this game. 

Anyway, back to the point of me writing this, if there is one...  As lovely as these blokes all are, including the builders and electricians today.  I donned my apron (not) and stuck the kettle on and offered tea or coffee.  The response was affirmative from all and yet the moment I shimmied out cups on tray, kitten heels and a splash of lippy, wafting through into the hallway leaving the sweet smell of Coco Channel in my wake, suddenly the barricades were up and the tea was downed in one go and wives and girlfriends were the topic of the hour.  (after reading, please remember that creative license is afoot in this paragraph because I don’t own kitten heels or wear lippy anymore) They all seem to think the offer of tea is the offer of me revealing my huge breasts and jumping on the bed screaming 'come and take me big boy'. 

Obviously, it's me just offering my very nice cups of tea [stroke] coffee and feeling guilty that I don't have any biscuits left (well I do, but my Duchy oat biscuits are my treat and not one of those boys would appreciate the fine flavour of duchy oat biscuits baked by the hands of Royalty) is not my way of showing that I would shag a bloke let alone offer them a lick of my Punami candy.  The younger blokes are the worse culprits – although the little plumber boy was terribly sweet and responsive in my chat. 

But lets remember the same happens with women or should I say dykes. 

The amount of women I have chatted to in my time running events and socialising and in day to day life, the same thing happens.  I don't just chat to women with the intent of asking someone out, or for shagging purposes (well, maybe sometimes but not day to day and certainly not lately.  I just can’t be arsed but I shall save that for another rant).  If anything, I just like to chat and normally it’s only the older generation birdets, usually at bus stops who understand that level of harmless chatting.  I don’t go to many bus stops these days, but I guess I could do to make myself see that there are still normal women out there who know how to chat with no intention of a snog or date. 

The reaction is always the same from men and women, somewhere in the conversation they bring up 'the girlfriend' or ‘the wife’ (so hate that line) this translated means, 'don't even go there girlfriend, [in that wave your finger and hot foot it outta there kinda way] I don't fancy you one bit and I may well not have a bird, but I just want you to know that me accepting a cup of tea doesn't mean I'm going to do the twisty tongue thing on that fat ole clit of yours.

Am I being paranoid?   Well maybe depending on the wind and what mood I’m in.  But whether I am or not, see if it happens to you next time you feel chatty and I don’t mean when you’re waiting at a bus stop and 80 year old Beryl stops you for a natter.  The chances are, you will experience the ‘I’m too hot for you and that’s why I’m letting you down gently with a blatant lie even though you’re only offering me tea [stroke] coffee to drink or chatting to pass the time of day, or waiting for your friends to come, or waiting for your mate to come back from the loo, or because you don’t know anyone here, or because you’re being nice….it will in some way or form happen sooner or later.  My answer to their egos is, 'get over yourself love', it isn't always the case that someone who is being thoughtful, chatty or kind has the bedroom rumba on their mind and then again….