Musings by the Hairslave

I was staring at my closet this evening.  The reason I happen to be sitting there was because of my son’s cat, Ebi.  We’re watching him for the summer.  He’s very pretty, and pretty much the flightiest cat I’ve ever seen.  He was yowling at me to pay attention to him, so I did.  But I made the mistake of trying to touch him before he had settled.  Big cat mistake I’ve found.

He's actually got a few brains as well as the good looks.

Anyhow, after he fled while howling, I sat and thought about what a stupid cat he is.  It’s all beauty for the poor fellow.  And when I focused on my closet, I realized what a neurotic I am as well.  My closet is an organizers wet dream.  I’m a neat freak.

No, Pete's side doesn't look like this, but it's closer than it used to be!

I had suspected it for a while.  My first marriage fell apart because of what a slob my ex-wife was.  Or was it because I was a neurotic neat freak?  Oh wait,  I remember,  it was because I’m gay…awkward.  And my ex-wife was a slob.  I love her like a sister, and if we had been a little more compatible, she probably would have been willing to be my beard for years.  But I’m neurotic.  I truly hate chaos.  Eventually I fled to my own Immaculate 1 bedroom apartment, in fashionable “east” Woodland.

So, there I am having my neurosis epiphany, and  I think, “Wow!  What a fabulous wardrobe…