I assumed one of the rewards of having an unwelcome housemate would be the late-night cocktails.
Or shared cooking duties.
Or when you opened the fridge, you would find a bowl of leftovers with a sweet note attached to the cling film, stating, ‘Eat what you like.’
Instead, I spend most mornings trying to find a Tupperware container to put my work snacks in.
And this morning, I was officially out.
First-world problems, I know.
This didn’t happen when I lived alone. Every kitchen accessory was always accounted for. I thought about this change in my life as I traipsed through the homewares sections of Myer and David Jones in Bourke St mall.
These stories always confused me. How come you couldn’t get to the homewares section without passing the lingerie section?
Is that what every housewife needed?
A lemon peeler and a lemon g-string?
A sea of purple caught my eye; it was a push-up bra, lace cheeky underwear with a matching garter. It was my colour.
I always bought purple, to the point that Douglas insisted on buying something else. Red, black, white, fluorescent pink but not purple.
Part of me wanted to buy the set in my own silent protest of him. Yet, I could barely afford the new kitchen containers I needed, let alone revenge lingerie.
I could imagine Douglas’ face when I walked into his office in this outfit. Like when I used to strip back my pyjamas to reveal the lace draped over my body. He wasn’t able to contain himself, and immediately insisted on taking me, right there.
At that moment, in the middle of the department store, I was happy my friends weren’t with me, in fear I would spill these thoughts. And they would chastise me for having fantastical thoughts about my ex.
I would tell them it had nothing to do with him, but everything to do with sex. I missed it. I missed having a man’s body on mine.
What I didn’t miss was Douglas.
I found the section of the store with containers and there were piles of tubs, loose and unorganised. It was like someone had come along and deliberately opened up all the plastic-sealed sets and scattered them everywhere.
To annoy someone like me.
This sea of mismatched, missing plastic reminded me of Douglas. I lost the container and all I left was the annoying, can’t-do-anything-with-it lid.
He was lid-ing me.
I had part of the relationship I didn’t want anymore. And for the life of me, I couldn’t get rid of it. I couldn’t get rid of him.
There was nothing in the homewares section I could buy to solve my woes. I left, charging out into the cold city air. When I returned to the office, I noticed two moving men bringing in a glass coffee table into Douglas’ office.
Huh, I thought, he’s bringing a life-sized lid into his office. How fitting.
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