I dated a hoarder for 3 months. I thought he was “still unpacking” but after the first month I began to question his excuse. His name was Dave. Tall, Blonde, Handsome… Momma’s boy. He had no job, no car, no schooling; and his mother was paying his rent. Do we see an issue here? I do.
I put up with his habits for a little while. He was really the first guy I dated outside of college. I was still vulnerable and naive to what was really out there in the city. Recap: I went to school in a hick town in Ontario, Canada. The guys were all home grown country boys who had good values and bottomless stomachs for good’ol home cooking. This is what I was used too. Dave possessed these qualities for the first month then he started getting comfortable with me. Not cool.
Dave would invite me over, and we would stay in his bedroom laying in bed…. talking. I’m not trying to tell you to read between the lines, because after the first few times of making him cum and not receiving anything in return; I stopped putting out. He didn’t like this. And it was as if he was punishing me for it by purposely not cleaning his place before I would go over. You couldn’t see the floor.
I told him we should stop talking and never heard from him again.
Recently, I was in his area of the city and ran into him. He invited me back to his place for a beer and I accepted. I was in need of some attention after a long day of work, Why not? Dave had moved into a new building and I guess, I had hope that it was better than the last place. So we walked over; went through the door to the building; up the 14 flights of stairs; and then he opened the door. He shimmied through his front door because there was so much stuff in the entrance. I simply walked away. Dave called out after me which got a glare followed by smile from me as I flew down the stairs and out the door. Never again.
After all, there’s got to be something more in life? Organize yourself.
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