Now, I think you all know me by now and you know I don’t often use people’s actual names. I don’t mention companies; I deal with good or bad or otherwise.
Unless, I mention Apple products, because I use them and only have my laptop, iPad and iphone because about five years ago I had one-off funding that helped pay for those things and maybe one day before I have to do a Go-Fund-Me page they might sponsor me for these things. Hint! Hint!
So, Sally the overlocker, it’s not actually about either of those things, but once upon a time back in the 90’s when a few people would gather at 5am in my lounge for raisin toast and cups of tea after the clubs, at my home in South Yarra.
A few of the guys were discussing some ‘guy’ topic. The other two ladies that were there and myself got a wisp of their blokie conversation.
To not be left out, we created a fictitious lady-friendly topic and we name dropped, you guessed it. Sally the Overlocker.
Clearly, a fictitious personality we dropped her into conversations at random intervals, even to the point where one of the two guys looked over rather curiously.
FYI, South Yarra is a rather exclusive suburb to live in and I was ‘crawling’ distance to the Jam Factory on Chapel Street and the house I was in, while not at all amazing, was the cheapest rent I’ve ever had in Melbourne. $262.15 per calendar month in 1993. Those were the days.