The Other Men in my life.

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This is my first husband Steve. Steve and I got married in 1993.

We caught up last night at a function and spent the evening giggling over our short-lived and loveless marriage.

The service was performed sometime around midnight at The Rafters Bar at Charles Sturt University, Bathurst. If you have visited this bar, you will no that it is neither intimate or romantic. We mainly got married because we shared the same surname, and thought it would be a scream of we could both double barrel our names. The ceremony was conducted by an extremely intoxicated Sawhole. The marriage was never consummated.

Years later, Steve came bursting out of the closet where he has remained ever since.

The other man in my life is more constant and reliable, although I have never actually met him.

His name is Rinaldo.

“I am coming home early from work today, about 4pm. So make sure Rinaldo isn’t here.”

“I have the day off work next Friday, so if Rinaldo was coming around, could you make sure he does between 12 and 2pm, because I am going for a dirt bike┬áride then, ok?”

It is so strange that Mr. Woog has an imaginary rival, one that he constantly refers to.

Rinaldo, sometimes I think it might be nice to meet you. I will make you a coffee and you can help me fold the piles and piles of washing. Your accent is Spanish. Your eyes are blue. You LOVE watching Question Time with me and agree that Warren Truss may just be the most boring man on the planet. You change my lightbulbs without me even having to mention it. You fixed the dining room chair.

Rinaldo, I think I am falling in love with the thought of you, even though you live inside my husbands head.

Apart from your partner, do you have another notable man in your life?

Barista? Mailman? The man you greets you at the entrance of K-Mart and wishes you a glorious shopping experience?