The Things My Things Need
I received an email from my favorite retailer the other day:
“Your Jeans Need This”
I naturally opened it right away. I was very anxious to know what my jeans needed. My jeans had not expressed any desires or dissatisfactions in quite some time. I was a conscience-stricken that my jeans might be reluctant to share their needs.
Had I failed my jeans? What could they need? A Be-Dazzler, maybe?
This would be bad. I don’t want to disappoint my skinny jeans – they’ve been very kind to me this year. I couldn’t blame them if they wanted a bit of bling.
So I was relieved when I opened the email. A Blazer! My jeans needed a blazer! I could do that!
But this email also opened up a new area of worry. I’ve been looking at all my things in a new light.
What other of my things might need things?
My towels, for instance. My towels might be weeping just a little because they don’t have gold initials embroidered on them. Good thing they are towels, though, and can wipe away any tears.
Then there’s my answering machine. Now that I have considered it, I think my answering machine has been asking me for years for a good stop-watch. Something so it can tell my callers: “Your message is over twelve seconds. That means no one in this house will listen to it. Would you like to call back and try again?”
My hairbrush probably longs for a mother-of-pearl handle. After all, I have makeup brush with a crystal handle. I don’t use it, of course. I mean, it has a crystal handle, for God’s sake. But it looks nice on my dresser, and I’m sure my hairbrush would like to lie around on my bureau, being pretty and lazy. Maybe it thinks a mother-of-pearl handle would be alluring enough to score a date with the lovely makeup brush – in a ‘dish-ran-away-with-the-spoon’ fairy-tale sort of way .
And then there are my bananas. Bananas are sensitive souls. Look how easily they bruise. I know they just feel terrible lying amongst fruit that they are nothing like. Bananas need to feel special. They need a special place that elevates them from the riff-raff of apples.
And finally there’s my purse.
What does my purse need?
It’s so obvious.
My purse needs a purse.