Why Can’t I Be Addicted to Drugs?
Instead, I have an uncontrollable urge to buy clothing. A specific item of clothing, mind you, not a wardrobe free-for-all, where I go on a Lady Gaga inspired shopping spree without regard to price, or utility, or the need to wear pants to cover my nether regions.
Stupid catalog companies send me lines of cocaine, I mean, catalogs, in the mail, regardless of how many times I have filled out forms asking them to remove me from their mailing lists. With the shaking hands of an addict, I must get my fix, thumbing through them before I hurl them into the recycling bin, desperate imprints of desire already burned into my feeble brain.
It will remain there. Really. My fingers will point-and-click their way to those images again.
What is perverse is that my drug of choice seems to be……….grey sweaters? Seriously? Can I not be more racy in choosing a narcotic? Like, maybe, a shot of chartreuse, some neon orange, or even flipping teal? An actual color, perhaps, instead of something…….bland.
I don’t know why every time I open a catalog, my eye zeroes in on a grey sweater. I have at least six of them packed away for fall and winter already, all varying shades of grey, it’s true. But GREY nonetheless. I look like a walking thunderstorm every time I don one of them. That’s a problem, because thunderstorms are not attractive. They’re threatening. They zap things to death. Okay, maybe they dump much needed rain on the landscape, but too much quantity at once means little of it hangs around to do any good.
I once had a director in a play who told the cast that he liked thunderstorms. He thought they were in a turn-on. In fact, he blocked a whole love scene around a thunderstorm, and went into great detail acting out the various business for each person. He sold that atmospheric mayhem like it was something erotic. Sensual.
And, I think it brainwashed me into thinking grey is sexy. Compelling. A “come-and-get-me” without putting it all out there on display. Like uber-drugs, grey hooks a person before they know they’ve been ensnared, before they know they’re in trouble.
Yep, I’ve convinced myself. I’m definitely going back to the Anthropologie site tomorrow and buying that blasted grey sweater.
Too Much is Just Enough: Grey