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Notes07/27/2020
TiBe
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TiBe
6
What an interesting lady...
... ...even if she's a constant pain in the ass.
Clara is the emancipated woman of the Edwardian era. When woman was actually still "angel in the house" and was happy when her husband granted her "a room of one's own", she already lived alone and earned her money herself.
The selection was clear, factory workers did not suit her, as a prostitute she would have had to give up her self-determination and would have married - if at all - a nobleman, who as is well known is sown rarely and rarely used to marry idiosyncratic ladies who have already clearly exceeded the age of 20.
So Clara works in a nightclub where men look for adventure night after night and women look for well-off providers. She greets the guests, because they know each other, or at least pretend to. Kisses from the ladies with the heavy sweet perfumes that stick to her during the evening, a discreet nod from the men. Clara brings them glass after glass of the golden-brown brews from the heavy barrels in the cellar. The many ways up and down the narrow cellar stairs make them sweat a lot, but Clara knows that the gentlemen like to flip an extra coin when their swill is fresh and cold. So she walks and doesn't care about the vapours under her arms, which during the night form a strange combination with alcohol and sweet vapours.
Towards the end of the night, the men also start to eye Clara with slightly dazed eyes, she already knows this. Hardly anyone makes open advances to her and she has found out early on that skilful pretending to be clueless can quickly nip it in the bud.
So the only thing left for the remaining gentlemen to do is to lean back and enjoy their melange, the scent of a woman they cannot have (and rarely want to have in an unfogged state), who smells like their favourite place, of sweet promises, of narcotic alcoholic drinks, of work done under unshaven women's axes, and they imagine sinking their noses into Clara's dress and thus keeping the memory of this successful evening alive.
But like every evening Clara goes home alone, to her own little apartment, paid for by her own little money. She hangs out her dress, she can afford the services of a laundress and she does so with the greatest satisfaction. Tomorrow she will wear another one, and with the best will in the world she cannot bear the smell of her dress after a day's work in her apartment overnight. She goes to bed at dawn, freshly washed and completely unscented.
Only the washerwoman turns up her nose the next morning when she collects the dress and lets it disappear in her sack. She has her own ideas about what kind of customer this customer will be...
Clara is the emancipated woman of the Edwardian era. When woman was actually still "angel in the house" and was happy when her husband granted her "a room of one's own", she already lived alone and earned her money herself.
The selection was clear, factory workers did not suit her, as a prostitute she would have had to give up her self-determination and would have married - if at all - a nobleman, who as is well known is sown rarely and rarely used to marry idiosyncratic ladies who have already clearly exceeded the age of 20.
So Clara works in a nightclub where men look for adventure night after night and women look for well-off providers. She greets the guests, because they know each other, or at least pretend to. Kisses from the ladies with the heavy sweet perfumes that stick to her during the evening, a discreet nod from the men. Clara brings them glass after glass of the golden-brown brews from the heavy barrels in the cellar. The many ways up and down the narrow cellar stairs make them sweat a lot, but Clara knows that the gentlemen like to flip an extra coin when their swill is fresh and cold. So she walks and doesn't care about the vapours under her arms, which during the night form a strange combination with alcohol and sweet vapours.
Towards the end of the night, the men also start to eye Clara with slightly dazed eyes, she already knows this. Hardly anyone makes open advances to her and she has found out early on that skilful pretending to be clueless can quickly nip it in the bud.
So the only thing left for the remaining gentlemen to do is to lean back and enjoy their melange, the scent of a woman they cannot have (and rarely want to have in an unfogged state), who smells like their favourite place, of sweet promises, of narcotic alcoholic drinks, of work done under unshaven women's axes, and they imagine sinking their noses into Clara's dress and thus keeping the memory of this successful evening alive.
But like every evening Clara goes home alone, to her own little apartment, paid for by her own little money. She hangs out her dress, she can afford the services of a laundress and she does so with the greatest satisfaction. Tomorrow she will wear another one, and with the best will in the world she cannot bear the smell of her dress after a day's work in her apartment overnight. She goes to bed at dawn, freshly washed and completely unscented.
Only the washerwoman turns up her nose the next morning when she collects the dress and lets it disappear in her sack. She has her own ideas about what kind of customer this customer will be...
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