Painting for Mrs. Robinson was a nightmare. There was one plus side, she always paid in cash.
Even though she hovered over him and talked non stop about her grandkids, he kept right on painting, saying, ” Oh yeah, that’s cool,” every few minutes.

Every time he neared the end of the project, she found more things to be painted, or pictures to be hung, light bulbs to be changed. All for the original agreed upon price for painting one room. Which inevitably turned into four rooms, six chairs, three tables and one chest of drawers.
The other beauty of painting for an old lady; they can’t always see well, so you don’t need to do your very best job.

The bad part, aside form the cheap labor, was undoubtedly that she wore a skimpy flimsy nightgown, under her too short robe, showing more cleavage than any red blooded American teenage boy cared to see in a female older than his Grand mom.

Please don’t let her bend over, he said to himself.

Eyes on the wall, was his mantra. It’s what got him through the job.