Glitter

I came across a bunch of tiaras strolling past a window today. They were dainty, lovely designs. Some would make gag gifts, "happy birthday to me" kind of thing. But I stopped in my tracks. How I admired the sight! So pretty, so sparkly! They made my heart sing.

Just when one thinks one has put all that princess bullshit behind her, one gets tiara fever. I became obsessed. I spent much of the rest of the day looking online for the perfect tiara. What occasion would even arise for me to put one to use? Beside the point. I knew what I was looking for though. The lines had to be clean, not too adorned. Not fake pearls, please. Must be attached to a comb cuz I have fine hair. Must not encompass half the circumference of my head. I said dainty, didn't I?

Almost 12 hours later (I did other things, too. I'm not THAT pathetic), I couldn't believe nothing looked right. My trusted Amazon didn't come through. Not eBay. Not a dozen other sites at bargain prices. Not those targeting brides, flower girls, or communion candidates.

Then it dawned on me. OF COURSE nothing looks right. It's a fucking tiara! It doesn't belong on a grown woman's head. Not in the 21st century, working the grind, on a Tuesday. Or any day, for that matter.

What could've driven that kind of insecurity? The good old, I MUST have it! If only I could have THAT, my life would be perfect?! I thought I'd given up on the notion of perfect a long time ago. And easy sublimation and displacement - come on! What is this, Psychology 101? Puh-lease!

Think I'll stick to cooking on Sunday after all. That's a palpable sense of accomplishment. And at least I'll know why it's not about food.