As I am cleaning the windows of my beloved’s apartment, a bunch of lesbians are walking past on the other side of the street. They are quite unmistakable in Zagreb: short hair, dark glasses, leather jackets, short skirts, colorful tights, and bulky shoes. In their late twenties and early thirties, they look very much alike. As soon as one of them notices me a few floors above, they all start looking my way. Most of them coming from the provinces, where men’s and women’s jobs are sharply divided, they must be delighted to see a man, and a pretty old one, cleaning windows. “Victory,” I can almost hear them whispering to each other. If men are doing women’s jobs nowadays, it is high time for women to start doing men’s jobs, as well. Although I feel an urge to smile and wave toward them in celebration of their victory, I do my best to behave as though I have not even noticed them. This is the petty bourgeois capital of the world, after all.