Twelve steps work for some people. I don’t think it would work for me. I mean, I don’t think anyone would take me seriously if I got up in front of the group and said, “Hi. My name is Winter and I’m secretly fluffy. I have an obsession with… designer handbags.” I am fluffy. Girlie. Googly eyed over some really feminine things. I never used to be like this. I used to be a much more hardy soul. As I get older though, I find myself liking some of these freakishly feminine things. Things that are distinctly… fluffy.
Now, I promise not to post my kid’s baby pics or give you a TT with 13 reasons why I love my old man, but c’mon. I’ve subjected you to my purple toes already! So you know I like to do the pedicure thing. Well, I’ve graduated. I now do the pedicure AND manicure thing. I even buy my own OPI polish so I’m not using the salon’s watered down stuff. I have a thing for OPI’s Russian Collection. Currently, my fingers have on Russian Navy and my toes have Affair in Red Square. I have Siberian Nights, Midnight in Moscow, and Catherine the Grape too. Manicures and pedicures are fluffy things. You do not give a shit about my manicure and pedicure, do you?
Well, I’m copping to the mani/pedi thing only as a preface to showing you how serious my illness truly is. I came home yesterday wiped out from more than 10 hours at the office without lunch and nary a break. I checked taxbrain.com and lo and behold, my refund has hit the bank. CHA CHING. What did I, in my exhausted state, do? I went to eBay. I went to eBay and typed in 3 little words. DOONEY AND BOURKE. $86 and a matching star purse and wallet later, I left eBay and went to… uh huh, you guessed it… dooneyandbourke.com. I checked out the price of the giraffe print purse I’ve been lusting over for months. I checked out a cool bracelet. I put them both in the shopping cart and almost had a coronary. The cart was almost $300 once tax and shipping was slapped on. Holy Handbags!
Okay, I saved the cart. I did not check out. That was the first non-fluffy thing I’d done since I got home, if you discount sitting in front of the computer in my underwear and a ratty Eddie Bauer t-shirt. I went back to eBay… and found that same giraffe print bucket purse WITH a matching wallet going for less than the price of the brand new giraffe print purse. I put in a bid and someone promptly topped me. After that, I put the item on watch. I’ve been watching since last night. The auction ends tomorrow. I have not yet decided to buy the purse. Even though it is used, if it goes for less than $200 it is a steal. So, I’m watching.
While I’m watching tonight, after yet another 10+ hour day with no lunch break, I find a Dooney bracelet. This one has charms on it… fucking PINK charms. Ooooh. The one in the cart at Dooney’s website doesn’t have charms and is $55 + Tax + Shipping. This one is less than $50, has free shipping and no tax. At 3 minutes left in the auction, I’m a click fiend. The bracelet is now mine.
So, do you think that has satisfied my girlish obsession for awhile? Nuh uh. I’m still watching the giraffe purse. I still lust after it more than I lust after Matt-Man’s knobby knees and tented boxers. I lust after it more than I lust after Marcus. *GASP* That is like the ultimate fluffy confession. That I want a giraffe print designer handbag more than Marcus Schenkenberg. I suppose it’s because the purse is attainable, and Marcus, to my everlasting dismay, is not.
I am mostly sardonic in nature, but deep inside me there is a fluffy feminine girl who buys designer purses, paints her toenails purple or red, loves getting a manicure and pedicure, and… wants a Tiffany padlock pendant. *sniff* I’m sorry. I know you all thought I was above that girlish squeeing behavior. Go ahead. Feel free to call me a poser. I feel like one. Take away my Dooney camera bag purse with the rainbow candy colored zipper. I deserve your scorn. Maybe I’ll make up for it by giving Mr. Fabulous a cleavage shot in a Frederick’s of Hollywood black satin corset to post for his cleavage contest. After all, no self respecting fluff, who adores Victoria’s Secret, would buy her corset at Frederick’s. I, however, wouldn’t think of buying it anywhere else but the last bastion of skanks and sluts. I guess there’s hope for me after all.