She'll give herself to any and every stranger and then forget about it, leaving me to wonder who on earth feels that I need pills to enlarge my penis.
Today, one of her mysterious acquaintances put his finger on a very sensible subject though.
Here I was, cleaning up after her mess when, on the way to Spamville, a mail caught my attention.
Its title, "The Heartbreak of Hoarding", immediately increased my heart rate.
Had I been unmasked?
Had it become bad enough that even my e-mail address was trying to save me ?
See, it all started harmlessly enough.
In the beginning of our relationship, me and Mr K. were living in different cities and seeing each other way too little to our liking.
Add to that the fact that I was a desperately romantic teenager and soon enough I was filling a box with little tokens of his affection, then dates memorabilia, which soon included everything that he had touched when I saw him.
I'm not gonna go in detail about the contents of that box for fear of sounding like a crazy stalker but let's just say that gum wrappers were among the most normal stuff that I "collected".
You'd think that it would have stopped once we moved in together.
Why would I still compulsively keep anything remotely linked to him now that I had him all for myself all the time, right?
The hoarding seed had been planted and wasn't going anywhere.
If anything, it actually got worse.
I was now living away from home and so, on top of my Mr K. collection, I soon had a family one.
My pockets are overflowing with treasures -one of my vests' pockets is filled with mummified daisies my brother had plucked for me.
Next to my study books is an ever growing pile of envelopes from the daily postcards my grand-parents send us - how could I throw them, when I'm sure that they spend so much time picking the stamps ???
Let's not even talk about all the bottles that I keep -what monster would throw an empty bottle which once contained wine carefully chosen for them by their dad?Not me.
My hoarding habit is made all the more crazy by the fact that it is (well, was) a secret one.
At our place, you can actually walk freely without stumbling onto piles of stuff and you won't see any clutter anywhere.
Don't open that lovely little cabinet that we proudly painted though : its drawers are overflowing with my "keepsakes" ranging from city maps to brochures for hotels I've never been to but which were in some other hotel's lobby, waiting to be taken by me.
If you want a snack, better ask me for it : it just so happens that our pantry is filled with empty plastic cups and carton boxes (you'd be surprised if you knew how much meaning an old box of ice cones has to me).
One day, in a near future, my hiding places are going to be full.
Then, small pile of stuff by small pile of stuff, our place will begin to be filled with junk until we are confined to one safe clutter free room as our apartment turns into a raccoon's wet dream, all because of me.
I'm not sure that it's how I envision my dream house though.
Gotta run now, there's an important mail in my inbox that I need to read.