“Much better attitude,” she said, “but be quiet now, and do your work in silence. I don’t want you interrupting me again.”
I gulped as my face reddened at being overheard, and I dropped my head at being castigated as if I was a naughty child. Instead of reacting, as I knew I should have, I remained quiet, following her instructions to a tee while using my frustrations to energise myself into working my way through the grass. In the baking sun, the heat became quite unbearable, and the longer I worked, the more I found my clothes becoming sweaty and my boots scraped and dirty.
Meanwhile, Carol was relaxing carefree, enjoying the sun as it lightly-tanned her skin. However, she too began to notice that we were experiencing a hotter day than expected, and while I was lumping a bag of shorn grass passed her, I heard her sigh and whine, “It’s too hot.” She covered her eyes with her hand, before arrogantly snapping her fingers at me. “Are you busy?”
I blinked while clutching the bag, before glancing down at what I was doing at that moment. My forehead had a sheen of sweat and my hair had become matted to my skin. I couldn’t even process whether she was asking a serious question or just mocking me; obviously I was freakin’ busy as hell, doing her grunt work while she lazed around in the sun. “Yes?” I asked, while looking back at the cut and now neatly levelled lawn. “I’ve been working for over an hour, you’ve seen, right?”
Rather than being impressed, Carol rolled her eyes impatiently, then snapped her fingers once more, before pointing to a parasol a few feet away. “Come here and move this for me so I can sit in the shade while I monitor your work. I’m starting to burn, but I can’t go inside because the first instant I stop supervising you, I know you’ll go all workshy.”
“I won’t…” I felt mildly offended at the connotation of being lazy, and my first instinct had been to defend myself. However, I’d trailed off while Carol’s attention had gone fully back to her book. She’d snapped her fingers and summoned me like I was her trained lackey, before ordering me to perform another task while dishing out an insult to my work ethic. Now, she’d simply returned to her book and expected me to accept her disdain and perform her instruction without question. Inside, I was fuming at the way she was treating me, showing no gratitude at all for the work I’d already done. Yet, there was something else growing inside me, and the way she was treating me without regard was bringing butterflies to my tummy for a reason I didn’t understand. I’d had people be rude to me in the past, but none had belittled me in such a way, and shown no concern for my own feelings. It was as if the more she realised I wasn’t opposing her, the more of a Karen she became. She could have easily got up and moved the damn parasol umbrella herself; I was busy and exhausted enough as it was.
I looked at her, and was blown-away by the entitlement, and the ease of which she held no qualms about giving me extra work. It was just so wrong, to see a Karen get away with her behaviour. It was like she believed that I existed to do this kind of work for her, and I was finding the whole thing confusing and strange. I mean, I was already exhausted, and now she wanted me to help her rest in more comfort? It was just so…unfair, but I found that oddly provoking. Carol had to have known it was unfair too, but she was demanding it of me all the same. I was curious how she would respond if I actually just did what she wanted; would she ease in her attitude, or demand even more from me? That was a perplexing consideration and I was disturbed by the strange feeling in my tummy at the thought of Carol barking even more orders at me, while being trapped and forced to comply. It was almost like she had me restrained in legal bondage, and if I didn’t do as she wanted, she’d financially punish me. It was a power of which I was most envious, and therefore, I became fearful and almost revering of her might. While not really understanding exactly why, I found myself dropping the bag, nodding my head obediently and whispering, “Yes, ma’am.”
I scurried over and moved the parasol in place, before setting it up so that Carol’s reclining body was completely shaded from the sun. She made no comment and offered me no thanks, not even bothering to look in my direction; her focus entirely on her book. Still, I hovered their awkwardly, seeming paralysed as I waited for some fragment of recognition, some minor praise tossed in my direction. I was doing everything she wanted, wasn’t I? After all of her Karen demands and the way she framed everything as an inconvenience to her; I was agreeing and sucking up to her, yet, I didn’t even get any acknowledgement in return. Instead, I was left stewing there, my body still oddly tingling in turmoil as I remained forcibly attentive to Carol’s selfish needs. “Is there anything else I can do for you, ma’am?” I prodded tentatively, almost eager to make her happy. Why? I didn’t know, but there was something almost fascinating about witnessing an unrelenting Karen in her element. Almost like a Karen off the leash that was running wild, and rather than trying to restrain her, I was curiously encouraging her to break free.
Despite the safety of being away from Carol, by getting through this work and then keeping away from her, I found myself hanging around and almost wanting more unjust mistreatment from her; I couldn’t explain the catalyst, but it was like I somewhat craved it, because that odd feeling of being trapped in her power was vitalising. It was weird whenever she castigated me; it always brought a reaction, like I used to feel in school whenever I’d been caught doing something naughty. My skin would redden, my head would drop, and I’d instantly be remorseful. Even if I hadn’t done anything wrong, the teacher was the authority figure and therefore, I’d struggle to defend myself. I was having those same feelings flowing through me as Carol continued to talk down to me and tell me about all of the ways in which I was wrong and she was right. The more she did it, the more I felt like that little girl again. The more I believed I had no right to talk back to her.
Carol gave me exactly what I strangely desired, dismissively waving a hand at me and ordering me, “Shoo.” She didn’t even bother to look up in my direction. “Get back to work she said,” before turning a page and casually adding. “I’ll call you if I need anything else.”
For the next hour or so, I toiled laboriously, shaping and pruning Carol’s garden in all the ways I’d planned to do so for my new home. My fingers were already sore, and my palms calloused at the repeated chopping of the shears and digging of the trowel. Occasionally, I’d look upon my previously pristine manicured-fingers as they were buried in the soil, my femininity seeming to diminish with each passing minute. It was almost like I was destroying my own delicate, pretty features for Carol’s benefit; my face likely streaked with similar dirt with the amount of times I’d had to wipe the sweat from my brow and cheeks.
Each time I’d look at the dirt lodged beneath my fingernails, I’d glance up and feel overcome with resentful jealousy as I spied Carol relaxed in her lounger. Her feet casually crossed with French-pedicured toes looking pristine and unblemished. It was so bizarre, that my fingers were wrinkled from repeatedly plunging into the soggy soil, whereas Carol’s decades-older bare soles seemed flawless as they mindlessly flexed while enjoying her book.
It was at that moment, while I was staring a bit too longingly at her twitching toes, that I felt a twitch between my legs and in my nipples, and I panicked, not fully understanding what had happened. I’d been lingering on her reclined body for a minute or so, my mind wandering to the fact that she was laying there in comfort and at ease, while I was suffering at her direction, working my body to exhaustion and all for her benefit. After all, this was her garden being cleaned up, not mine, and why? Because Carol had objected to me having a BBQ, something that was blatantly no business of hers. Yet, she’d made it her business, and now she was making my business being an apparent lackey for her to pay off an unjust debt!
The unfairness was warping my thoughts, and I seemed to obsess on it; she was just so annoying, opinionated and selfish, and yet, here I was doing what she told me despite her being a thorn in my side. It was like I couldn’t draw my eyes away, constantly glancing up to her as she shifted and sighed in total relaxation. The more I sneaked peeks at her flawless soles as I worked, the more it was seeming to act as an incentive to toil harder. I couldn’t explain the desire behind my actions, but Carol had been such an irritating intrusion to my life, and now I was being forced to do as she said while she treated me with utter contempt. It was a situation I had never found myself in before, having mostly been treated with dignity and respect. So, perhaps for that reason, with it being completely new and taboo, and a reminder of my lack of power, that I was absurdly finding her arrogance exciting? It felt strangely good to be so casually used and with such inconsideration. To be suffering and aching, so my new worst enemy could relax and enjoy herself.
“What are you staring at?” I heard from across the yard, and I flinched upon seeing that Carol was looking over her sunglasses at me. Immediately, I averted my eyes, my cheeks glowing with embarrassment; had she actually caught me looking at her bare feet? “Stop daydreaming and slacking off,” she added. “You’re here to work, not stare into space.” She then moved her sunglasses back in place and shook her head. “See,” she muttered to herself. “I knew your sort needed supervision.”
I was mortified that I might have been busted staring at her feet. I mean, how would I even explain that? But, it seemed that she was just annoyed that I’d paused in my work. With the feelings of injustice flowing through me again, I was trembling with excitement as an urge to apologise overcame me. It was wrong, and she certainly didn’t deserve it, but I couldn’t help it. I was just too curious to see how she’d react if I acted with further deference towards her constant insults and snappy remarks. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” I said with a slight bow of my head. “It won’t happen again, ma’am.”
Will there a part 2?