Tuesday, October 13, 2015

A hundo ...

I received a gift of $100 and I decided that I was going use it on a series of small things for myself and that I was going to be very directed about it. I was going to develop a want, nurture the want, burst with the want, then plunk down the plastic and buy the thing. I was going to keep a record of these purchases, so that after the money was gone I could say: LOOK AT EVERYTHING I GOT! and feel a shiver of thrill.

First it was going to be Jonathan Franzen's "Purity." But then I was lying in bed and I needed a new book and I was holding my Kindle, and it was just easier to click Buy It on Amazon than to go downstairs and type in this temporary credit card information. So. I just bought it myself.

Then I became obsessed with Toms. Everywhere I looked, strangers were wearing them. A Twitterer I look to for social cues mentioned them. It was like everyone at Toddler School had a pair: Solid colors. Stripes. Everywhere. My spirit shoe. So I went to a boutique within walking distance of my desk and they didn't have my size. A few days later, at the mall, I had the opportunity to hold a shoe in my hand and I didn't like the sole. I could imagine it slipping across the surface of the grocery store or dampening quickly when I inevitably stepped into a puddle. Then I was like "I'm not going to wear a pair of Toms in the winter anyway."

A pair of tall brown boots.
A massage.
My iPhone upgrade.
A haircut.
A Twins cap.

This is going to be like that hand lotion, Chuck predicted, as I continued to not buy anything.

A few years ago, JCrew and I had a free makeup consultation in this woman's basement, which she had turned into a parlor/office. She was very-much a woman-woman, the kind with skin so soft you could leave your fingerprint in the flesh of her cheek. The kind of woman who leaves you in a wake of powdery floral smells. She had a flattering hair style and could walk in shoes and she'd earned the pink car. She was fascinating and good. So good.

She did this multi-part thing to our hands that involved washing, exfoliating, lotioning and then extra-lotioning, that left my hands feeling like fancy sheets. I fell hard.

I bought the whole set up. I performed the cleansing-lotioning-lotioning ritual using Chuck's hands. We basked in the aroma of pure peach.

Then I never used the stuff again. I was saving it for occasions. It was not to be trotted out willy-nilly. I caught him using one of the hand lotions once and almost choked. You didn't just use the lotion. You had to do the process. Whatta waste.

Whatta waste, indeed.

So, anyway, right now I'm in the process of building up a want for Patti Smith's new book.

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