My new partner found the secrets lurking in my cupboard

“But even in lockdown you could buy food!” my partner said.

OK, he had a point, but it isn’t my fault. The tendency to hoard, I explained, is in my blood, inherited from my parents, who were raised in the shtetls of wartime Eastern Europe.

“Er … I thought your parents were born in Melbourne,” he said.

Honestly, men can be so annoying. I closed the pantry door, aware that my partner didn’t know the half of it. I don’t just hoard pantry items; I hoard paracetamol, cosmetics, cleaning products, toothpaste, shampoo and (I know, I’m sorry!) toilet paper.

When I purchase an item I need, whether biscuits or hand cream, I immediately feel anxious that I’ll run out. So I’ll buy another, and then a spare – or six more, in the case of toothpaste and packet soup.

It’s what I do. It’s how I shop.

And, until my partner pointed it out, I hadn’t thought it unusual, let alone obsessive. I certainly hadn’t considered whether we need 10 boxes of tissues, or how long it would take to get through four tubs of peanut butter.

“It’s also true that my cupboards are a little chaotic, and it’s hard to see what lurks within.”

Besides, my hoarding had proved advantageous. I was stockpiling toilet paper before stockpiling toilet paper was a thing! When the Great Toilet Paper Shortage of 2020 hit, I could service my family’s needs while graciously handing out rolls to less prescient friends.

What’s more, I have always had enough food to feed unexpected guests. Having said that, no one has ever popped in unexpectedly. But if they do, I will have plenty of pasta and biscuits.

It’s also true that my cupboards are a little chaotic, and it’s hard to see what lurks within. I thought, for example, I was down to my last tin of corn. But when I moved the crackers and pasta to make room for the new tin, I found three more hiding at the back.

Also, I may have overstocked on my favourite anti-ageing cream, and might need to live to 100 just to use it all up.

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Still, I am amenable to constructive criticism about my domestic mishigas, and it’s possible I could let my emergency supplies dwindle, just a tad. I could run down my stores of tuna and pasta, stop buying toothpaste, and wait to restock the pretzels (three bags), the jars of pasta sauce (too many) and the spray-on deodorants (don’t ask).

But no one will ever convince me to cut down my treat drawer (two boxes of assorted chocolates, two family blocks, several miscellaneous bars, three packets of jelly snakes, a bag of liquorice bullets). Those things will not stick around long enough to expire.

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