Newest Archives Profile Whispers Rings Host
And I mean flushed in the non-bathroom sort of way Weighing my pockets with stones of longing |
There are a lot of potentially disastrous ends to the sweeping judgment lapses fueled by despairing self-pity. Now I know that one of those ends is frighteningly cutesy cookware. At this very moment there is a horrifying hearts-and-ladybugs motif tea pot sitting on my kitchen table threatening to spread a love of cross-stitch patterned wallpaper to all who see it. The most terrifying thing about it is that I bought it. It's garish. Here's the thing... I have spent months wishing I had a teapot, and I had finally resolved to go to Carrefour to get one, even though it meant taking the money out of my food bugdget. Well, I got out there, all went according to plan; I got what I needed and was out in 45 minutes. Waiting patiently at the bus stop to go home triumphant, a sudden gust of the nasty Narbonnais wind swept up, carried my teapot out over the street, dropped and broke it clean in half. Still in shock that what was once a sturdy ceramic vessel had been rendered useless by moving air, I gathered the three remaining pieces (two halves and a lid) still in the original shopping bag and deposited them still untouched by tea in the garbage bin across from the sports park. I waited another five minutes in stunned, dewy-eyed silence and rode back to town, bewildered to be back already but with no teapot to show for it, a bit like Felix in New Waterford Girl, wondering why there was no baby brought back. Feeling betrayed by fate after months of longing, I was so crestfallen that I struck out and stubbornly bought the only teapot I could find in town for less than 5O bucks -- and at the time those hearts and ladybugs seemed to be comforting me with their radiant message of love. Now they just appear to be swarming about the pot in a home-making frenzy. The truth of the matter is that I am still glad to have a teapot, even if it was, in the end, twice as expensive and something more in the style of Julie Monson. And while it does kind of make me cringe when I look at it, that cringe is quickly followed by the reminder that this pot loves me, and in all its ridiculousness it has the sole purpose of making me feel better while making me a nice cup of tea. Embarrassing to behold, but a heart-warmer nonetheless.
Kind of like how my parents feel about me, I'd imagine. at 6:57 p.m.
|
