I recently heard on the wireless that if you have your coat hangers all hanging in the same direction, you are possibly an Obsessive Compulsive. I am exhibit 1.
I also heard that if you arrange your bookcase in order of height of books, you are also OCD. Exhibit 2.
Oh dear, R is exhibit 3 with his hangers all facing the same way.
I just call it balance. I like balance and symmetry.
I did briefly have another partner before R. We silently battled over the toaster. I thought it made the bench look cluttered and used to put it away in the cupboard. He would not only leave it out after toasting, he would deliberately get it out to put it on the bench. Just another OCD person, I guess.
Funny, this has brought back memories. He rejected me but was still possessive of me and not ready to let me go. One night he followed me after I left work and forced me into a side street and punched me. I had a swollen lip and a sore jaw. I am so embarrassed to remember now but I sought help at my step mother's nephew's house in Warrigal Road.
G was so angry because I hooked up with his ex, that is R.
G was an incredibly hot guy though. He could charm the pants off a straight guy and frequently did. He was probably an alcoholic and had delusions of grandeur. He was from a huge family, with some of his brothers having served time in gaol for theft. He came from Port Melbourne wharf worker stock, but he could mix it with polite society too by sheer charm.
I was ever so prim and proper back then. I was so shocked when he said to a very normal straight guy in a pub who he had just introduced me to and I had shaken hands with, along with my butchest howyagoinmate greeting, G said, this bloke won't let me do him because my dick is too small. I said I would do it twice to make up for it.
I am getting this down on the record before dementia sets in. The details are already hazy. G's mother lived in a cloud of Ardath cigarette smoke in a rented flat in Carlisle Street near the corner of Barkly Street. The block was later renovated in the eighties and sold off as own your owns. Before that she lived in a very nice rented Spanish Mission block in Elwood. G introduced me to his mother thus; This is Sue, the St Kilda do.
His mother, with a wharfie as a husband, was pretty rough around the edges, yet she was nice and good fun. I took her once to bingo in Wright Street in Middle Park. Another time I took her to her daughter's place in Station Street, Fairfield in my Valiant. Back then Punt Road had five lanes, with the one in the middle being for turns and peak directional. It was horribly congested. Nothing has changed.
I came across G once after he punched me. His sarcastic barb washed over me as I had met the man I was to spend the rest of my life with. G moved to the Dandenong Ranges and is amazingly still alive. He must be pushing seventy now.
How do I know this? He worked at a garage in St Kilda, almost the same place with the same owner where I still take my car to be serviced and G keeps in touch with owner. A couple of years ago he tried to work for the same bloke, delivering spare parts, but he only lasted one day. He found it all too hard.