I can't tell him to stop because I'm ashamed

Once upon a time, there was a pushover for manual labor services. She would do just about anything to get out of cleaning most things, windows included. A day came when a knocking on the door didn't mean it was a charity asking for bank details; it was the neighbor's friend who had a business cleaning outside windows, upstairs and downstairs.

She was ecstatic to solve the issue for such a low price, figuring it was a one off. And she was glad to help a blue collar man in this economy. But he came back the next month to clean the windows...and the next. Each time, she was caught off guard by the sound of the wet soapy brush attacking the upstairs window; he always started from the top. Each time, she scrambled through the change jar for the £4 to pay for the session. It hadn't been her understanding that he'd wash the windows every month but, she mused, this was the price you pay when you speak the same language but have a different accent. Plus it was nice to be on good terms with your neighbors, otherwise he might throw meat on top of the roof.

She never had cash in the house on the days he came. After a couple of months of embarrassed scrambling through the change jar's dwindling contents (really, she could've paid in 2p's but that would've been silly; 50p's and pound coins were more sophisticated) he handed her his bank details so she could pay him online. She took the half-slip of paper, glanced over it as he responded to her inquiry of how much she owed him. It was only £8. She'd thought it was closer to £21. And then she noticed his name at the bottom. Graeme. Inwardly, she high-fived herself, thinking "finally! I couldn't remember his name."

He paused, checking her face to see if he had overstepped society's line of service relationships. She grinned back, reassuring him that she'd take care of it that day. After he left, she sat and looked at the paper, wondering if she should pay the bill. After all, if you don't pay for services, do you continue to receive them?

Day 10- The First Novel You Remember Reading

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• Gone With the Wind- not the typical Babysitters' Club chapter book loved by the age group...don't get me wrong, I liked those book superhard.

•  I was in 5th grade and I needed another reason to set me apart from all the other girls. The beige horn-rimmed glasses, frizzy perm, and general pudge just weren't cutting the mustard.

• It was my Grandma's favorite movie.

• Just another way to connect to her. And remember her. She sure did like that Clark Gable. Don't think she knew about his halitosis.