Decline Agatha

Her pleading eyes. Her heaving breasts. There’s no fakery about her. She genuinely needs your work.

Look at those breasts, those legs, that face, and your dick imagines how she’ll show her gratitude. No, that’s just a tawdry fantasy. Real life’s not like that. But you can imagine all the same.

No, sensible thoughts. Garden. Are you going to keep it up to the same standard? No. To any standard? Probably not.

Money. Can you afford it? It’ll squeeze your budget. You’ll have no leeway. And you need leeway. The garden is not the only part of the house that needs to be maintained.

“I’m sorry, Agatha, I can’t afford to keep you on.”

State it as a matter of fact. Carry on speaking while she slumps, as her nervous joy turns into dejection. Her brown eyes harden. Her nervous smile vanishes. Her dimples transform into pits. She nods, as if she suspected this all along.

“So that’s it, you can’t afford me?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Then I’d better go.”

She stands. She heads towards the door. You follow her.

“Will you be alright?” you feel you have to ask her.

She pauses at the door. Her cheeks are flushed. Her eyes are watery.

“No. But I’ll survive. I’ll deal with it.”

She’s the one who opens the front door. She’s the one who shuts it behind her. You stay in the corridor, watching a shut door as if you’ve made the wrong decision. But you haven’t. You had no choice. You had to say no.

It was the right choice. It just feels like the wrong one.