Thursday, June 02, 2005
So, today, inspired by the beautiful weather and the streets full of eye candy I will write an open letter to the boys who work at King and Ontario, across the way from the Toronto Sun building. Here goes:
Dear Construction Workers,
I love you. I know this is sudden, but I think it is best to make my feelings plain. I may not know your names, and I probably wouldn’t recognize you without your hard hats and reflector tape, but I do know that you have toiled tirelessly on yet another magnificent structure to grace King St. East and I thank you. I would also like to thank the sun that has kissed your coarse skin giving you the golden appearance of the bronzed gods that you are.
Construction workers, you do not behave like the stereotypical Neanderthal hard hated goon so commonly lampooned in the funny papers. You don’t cat call or yell, “show us your tits” as women walk by. You tip your helmet and say hello. Once you noticed that I changed my hair. You have even complimented my smile.
The summer heat has blossomed inside men and women everywhere. My shirts are now more revealing, my skirts ever shorter. I have taken extra special care with my hair and yes, I bought new lip gloss. I am not ashamed to say it. I do this for you. I want you to think I’m cute. I want you to smile when you see me. And, when I look at you, I want you to look back. These are some of the little things that make my day.
Gentlemen, you look great in your overalls and large heavy construction boots. You sit like nobility in the cement trucks and stand like action heroes on the edge of the unfinished 5th floor. Poised on the city’s newest rooftop, you survey your skyline from a vantage point few will ever see. And from the ground level I adore you.
In my dreams we live together in bliss. I take you out of your grubby clothes, soothe your tired muscles and pack your daily lunch so you don’t have to spend your hard earned wages on coffee truck food. I look pretty while you fix the toilet. On Saturdays we can have breakfast in bed, and on Sunday afternoons I can hang out with my girlfriends while you and your buddies watch some major sporting event, I don’t care which one. Tell me about your job, use technical language, I want to hear it all.
In short, glorious Construction Worker, this city is yours as am I.