Thursday, 14 June 2012

Ramblings: Ring Ring

I have a little O.C.D. thing about my phone. Sometimes I get this indescribable panic that my phone is connected to someone. I always imagine it’s someone who I absolutely don’t want to hear what I’m saying or doing. For example: sitting talking to the psychotherapist I’ll panic that my mother will be listening in. During sex I’ll imagine that my phone has somehow rung one of my more straight laced friends. (This actually happened to a friend of mine who knocked her phone as she reached for some lube on and accidentally rang another friend who got a more interesting call than she bargained for)

This isn’t such a random fear though. Like many phobias and anxieties it’s born of bad experience. An ex partner of mine was separated from his wife. He’d tried hard to be straight as men often do. Thankfully, being a tad effeminate, I couldn’t get away with trying that manoeuvre. It would have been quite laughable.

He had children so we had to have contact with his wife to collect the children. We decided that as we had been together a while it was best that I meet her. The (soon to be ex) wife and I tried hard to tolerate each other. It wasn’t easy but we both made an effort. I kept my mouth shut most of the time, which wasn’t easy. In effect we were like two quite peeved cats circling each other with our hackles up. Kind of like the bitches of Dynasty but with smaller shoulder pads. She wasn’t really my kind of person and we didn’t understand each other but I didn’t hate her either. Now don’t pity her. She wasn’t the wronged woman. She left him. So she was married to a gay man but is that so bad? Being married to a gay man means endless hair advice when you need it and better curtains. One friend had an Uncle who when he got married hand sewed the wedding dress for his wife and baked the cake. No one was surprised when he ran off to run a gay bar in Spain.

One day we’d been and dropped off the children and we both noticed something different about her. Namely: a huge mouldering love-bite on her neck. We got back in the car and began to chuckle as only two gays can.

“Did you see that bloody hickey on her neck?” (Him)

“Ha ha ha! The dirty cow!” (me)

“I wonder who it was?”

“Well, I’m surprised there wasn’t a tide mark there where the dirt had been licked away. Maybe it was her weekly bath day.”

We heard a strange noise coming from somewhere which sounded like a scream. Of course it was his phone and it was connected to her.

We spent the next few days looking sheepish and kept giggling nervously waiting for the backlash. It came a short time later when she managed to present him with some “evidence” of my infidelity. It wasn’t true of course. I was never unfaithful to him. Who can blame her for trying though? She made a good effort and even plucked up a friend as a witness. I’d have wanted revenge too.

Needless to say, we stopped pretending to get on. I stayed in the car after that (with my phone locked).

Like I said, most irrational fears have an origin. I’m very careful with my phone since.

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