Four women have offered to pay me and I said no four times

Four times a woman has offered me something for the work, kindly, usually because she had become uncomfortable about how much of it there was. Four times I have said no. Not out of pride, and not because I am well off, but because the moment anything is paid for it becomes a job with a boss, and I have had jobs, and what I am asking for is not one.

Fifty five, Stockport, I drive a bus, I am on shifts, and I have done some version of this for about twelve years.

I understand the impulse entirely. A woman with somebody doing four hours a week of her household for nothing feels the imbalance and wants to settle it. What I would say is that the standard is the settlement. Being told it was not good enough and made to do it again is exactly what makes it even between us, and it costs nothing.

What I want is standing duties across a week, a fixed day, and a woman who is particular. Nothing for sale in either direction and nothing owed, and I would end an arrangement over it rather than negotiate, which I have had to do once.

What I do not want is to be told that refusing is its own kind of pride. It might be. It is also the only version of this I can do without it turning into work, and I have had twelve years to think about it.