78th email

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Thursday June 14th, 1999 11:21AM
Subject: RE RE Coming down

Yeah spoke to Elsa this morning.

She is going to be here on Saturday. She’s looking forward to catching up too – in a vino-way.

And yeah she did get together with the goatee, square glass, short-haired guy (though I think he’s actually going bald).

They came home together and emerged from her bedroom around 5:00 the next afternoon.
And you are so right. He didn’t shower.

Instead while she was in the bathroom, I had to make polite conversation with him in the kitchen.

I mean I’m always quite hospitable to the guys she brings home. I always offer a cup of tea. I always initiate polite conversation. And in one case, I can actually become their friend (that’s how I met Crisps – ending up talking for hours and playing Myst – Elsa got a little jealous – which I understand.)

But this guy – man… his name was Keith for a start. He was so caught up in himself. He’d lived in Sydney for a few years and felt so superior. He was constantly talking about the clubbing scene and how Sydney was so much better.

And his voice! He had this annoying accent that was sorta fey, nasal with English try-hard tones. I think he’d excuse his accent as trans-Atlantic. And I agree on this definition as it does sound like he’s drowning.

And how he sipped his tea;
A morse code of slurping (…---…)

And he had no interest in me either – not just me, but no interest in talking about anything but himself.

And as part of this ‘me-me-me’ conversation - he went into great detail about the night he shared with Elsa.

“Man, I’m a really giving lover…”

“Man, I think she liked it when I kissed her back. She said my lips were the best. And she liked my goatee as it touched her skin. It gave her goosebumps.”

“Man, I can control my orgasm. I’ve got this strong mental life. I think of rocks and streams and moss. I can go for hours.”

And this was only the printable stuff.
It was relentless.
I didn’t want to hear it.

I’ve known Elsa for a few years. We went to school together, made each other laugh and have found a content place of friendship. Sartorial, I guess. Sorry mean sorority –- sisterly -- I think sartorial means something to do with clothes making.

Anyway he went on and on. I was truly starting to think of ways I could kill myself to get out of the conversation when he said:

“You know it’s so hard having this face. People judge you because you’re so good looking. I wish I had a normal face. An ordinary face. I wish I had a face like yours…”

I lost it. I told him to get out. Get out of my house. He looked shocked. Not sure what to do. I said, ‘I’m serious – get out of my house before I hurt myself!’

Then the conversation went something like this:

HIM: Can I ring a taxi?
ME: No.
HIM: Can I finish my tea?
ME (Grabbing his tea and glugging it down myself): No.
HIM: Can I say goodbye to Elsa?
ME: When was the last time you were in a bathroom?
HIM: I can wait ‘til she gets out.
ME: You can wait outside.
HIM: But it’s cold.
ME: Use your strong mental life and think of summer.
HIM: But I only use my mental life when I’m having sex.
ME: Well then - go fuck yourself.

He didn’t know what to say to that. He blinked a couple of times, shuffled in his seat. I called to Elsa:

ME: Keith’s leaving, Elsa.
HIM: Tell her to ring me.
ME: Keith’s wants you to ring me.
HIM: Should I leave my number?
ME: No need. As you seem to be the only person in the world, you must be the only person in the phone book, right?
HIM: What’s that mean?
ME: It means Goodbye, Keith.

At this point I open the door and offered some sarcastic gesture.

I think I bowed.

Keith shuffled out. He was about to speak one final time. I said:

ME: Let’s not use words.

And I closed the door on him.

Once he was gone, Elsa came out of the bathroom. She was still dressed. I thought she’d be angry.

But she was relived.

She was hiding in bathroom, waiting for him to go.

She apologised but she had put up with Keith for hours. He kept sleeping, snoring and scratching. The sex was dull and his penis was quite thin (her words – not mine)

I asked, ‘how thin?’

And she started doing a drawing. I started drawing too and for the rest of the evening we pissed ourselves laughing over a sketch pad full of embarrassing male members.

Anyway – why did I start this? Oh yeah – Elsa will be there on Saturday night for dinner.

Looking forward to it.


Dom.