Brick (S)laying

Georgetown housing has put me in a cage.  Seriously.  There is a bricklaying project going on NOWHERE EFFING NEAR my apartment, yet apparently the ONE door to my apartment somehow requires six fencing units.

"Safety fences"?  Really, housing guys?  Bricks are not dangerous unless I throw them at you one falls on you, and they can't fall on you if they're in the ground.  Which is where they're going.  You're the ones who decided on this cirque du brick laying, remember?

And not to go on an estrogen-filled rampage (who am I kidding?  my life IS an estrogen-filled rampage), but I bet none of the construction guys have ever had to scale a fence in a pencil skirt like I had to this morning.  Heck, maybe they have.  I don't wanna think about it.  

Yes, I have a fantastic apartment, and my housemates are the coolest.  But the main housing office is still an idiot box those fences are still annoying.  Like, really annoying.  Like, people who say "like" too much, annoying. 

Maybe I could tell them that one of us is on crutches, or that fences are prohibited during Roshashashanananananana (to my Jewish friends and relatives, sorry I'm terrible at syllables), or that I'm allergic to metal or something.  Sigh.