Some days it’s all brio and go, go, go. It’s lovely, burning through all that energy and having time to turn this
(and even better, getting some coulis out of it and drizzling it over ice cream or birthday cake)
But some days, between the bits of sleep and the cold temperatures and the short days and everything in between, all I want is to go to a cozy shop and buy something absolutely cute and unnecessary, like this:
It’s not because it’s anybody’s birthday, really –let alone mine– but just because it’s absolutely adorable and sweet and old-timey and decidedly unnecessary. I’ve been browsing online shops here and there for several days, and this has been the only item so far (this hour) that has completely tugged at my heartstrings (and far more importantly, at my pocketbook strings).
Sometimes being the proud owner of something you can pet and treasure and love can really be a lovely and uplifting opiate… which of course means that it’s nothing but a quick fix and it’s addictive: you have to have some more.
But is it truly all that wrong to want some more?
I saw a really gross sight today and I wish I’d had the time, inclination, and speed to take a picture:
She was a very tan woman with dark hair and dark, well-plucked eyebrows, in her late 50s –but looking Botoxed to an eternal, eternally-surprised 35ish. She was wearing a long and luxurious fur coat. It was real, because when those things hit you, you just know.
She was about 5′. Her coat covered her almost down to her ankles.
She looked upset. Royally upset in her toasty warm bouquet of dead animals. I’m not a PETA person, but this would be the coat that could cause me to turn, people.
She could have smiled but was instead standing there, on Pennsylvania and 24th, looking royally pissed off and waiting for someone to do…. something.
I kept driving to my destination –L and 25th– and didn’t give her a second thought. Until now.
Maybe there is such a thing as having too much.