Last week, the workmen who are renovating this apartment building appeared outside the window at 7:15 a.m. Actually, they didn't just appear, they clamored noisily up the scaffolding all in a rush and peered in through the transom windows at me and the husband lying in bed. Squinting through one eye (rather useless without its contact lens), I could just see the top of a bald head and hear an Irish voice trying to sing some song about ordering beer for breakfast.
I could sense their disappointment because I'm sure they were planning on getting a glimpse of the bare flesh - a leg, or maybe with a little luck, half a nipple or an ass cheek - of the editor's wife. She is luxe, calme and volupté rolled into one, and ripe as a ripe peach. Instead, all they got was a glimpse of a couple of unshaven and rumpled-looking fellows faking sleep. Or at least I was faking sleep. Not the husband, he sleeps like a baby (except if he hears something untoward going on outside. He can read any sound, can tell if it's good or bad, in his sleep. Like he can tell the difference if it's one of the Finnish ladies bringing their laundry down into the garden at 4 a.m. , or someone trying to make off with one of the bikes parked there. He can tell just by the sound which of the three neighbors on our floor has just opened their door and is depositing their garbage in the hall, which will then sit there for a week.)
Anyway, I guess the workmen are all confused about who the hell exactly lives in this apartment, and how exactly they live here. Maybe they figured out the editor and his wife are gone. Maybe not. The Irish guy with the shaved head sure wasn't too friendly this morning, though. Still smarting from last week's disappointment, I guess. But not so much that he didn't manage to yank all the toilets out today and dump them in the garden. It looks like there's been a toilet massacre out there. And that includes our toilet. O, the horror. We're going to be without our own personal toilet for weeks.
The Swedish word of the day is skitsnygg. It means fucking gorgeous. - Francis S.