It's a beautiful day here; the sun is shining and there's not a sound to be heard. Marilyn watches the sun streaming through our lounge-room windows and comments, idly, "Those windows are due for their annual clean. I must ring whatsisname to come back and give them the once over."
"How much did he charge," I asked.
"I think it was $150," she replied.
My heart jumped in shock and I found myself volunteering to do it myself. How hard could it be?
The outside was fine: a bucket of soapy water, a squeegee mop and a final hose off and I could stand back and think what a good job I had done. The inside, though, is a different story. I have to take off the fly screen to get at the glass.
"You just squeeze these two lugs and lift it out," Marilyn explained patiently but, no matter how much I squeezed, there was no movement. I'll have to wait for Jamie to drop by and see whether he can work it out.
Clearly the window-washer man charges for expertise as well as time on task.
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