To Covet An Erection
I admit it. Of all the commandments, the sin of coveting is at the top of my list. Multiple times a day, I want something that’s not mine. I look up, and there it is, right in front of me.
I’m not talking about the overblown wilds of social media. It offers all sorts of alternative lifestyles, fantasies, things I can’t afford to ever, EVER do or have.
My object of wanton want dangles above me. I see it every morning when I drag my lazy carcass out of bed earlier than I would like. I admire its lines every time I see it. Sometimes I even blow it a kiss.
It’s an oversized photo of the Eiffel Tower, stretched on canvas. It belongs to my friend and landlord Kristin. AND I WANT IT.
Which is bizarre.
But, pastry and chocolate chaud and weird shoes and white shirts and the lunacy that I could learn to wear a scarf if only I studied enough Parisian women in the Tuileries: those things beckoned more. I waved to the tower from the train on the way into the city, miniature on the skyline. I can’t remember if I gave it a gesture of goodbye.
I am convinced that my lack of appreciation for the tower in real life is the cause of my covetous bile. This lovely image that I live with, I see it in my sleep. I now cannot imagine life without it.
And, it does not belong to me.