Yesterday, I read my friend's blog. Like, the whole thing. One time he said he always thought I looked like Cate Blanchett, but I saw her in Indiana Jones, and she was really good at being ugly.
But after reading his blog, I felt extensively writy. Everything that I did seemed like it would make a really good blog. I'm going to write the things that I remember now. I went to this store by the place where I work. It was a ritzy place with all sorts of aesthetic kitcheny things that you could just stare at. There was a battle there, because I might be rich someday. And I couldn't help but hope for it so I could have some kind of aesthetic kitchen.
It was beautiful when I saw it. Salt and pepper shaker and a butter dish with a nice little spreader. They looked like metal instruments - sleek and simple and new. Perfect for tinking. And when I say perfect, I mean perfect. I try not to use that word loosely, because I think it's very rare that perfect exists, if ever. But no one under the age of old could have helped themselves. I felt, at that moment, as though I was born to tink that piece of aesthetic kitchenware. And the sound. I have goosebumps; and I'm not even cold. Or worse, I'm not even kidding.
That's when a foghorn interrupted my kitchen music. "Can I help you." But it wasn't a question. It was a definite reprimand. "That is stainless, and if you keep doing that, you're going to scratch it." I think she asked me again because she wanted me to leave. "Can I help you with something." She glared at me. I wanted to walk up to her and stick my nose right up to her neck (because that's where it would've naturally gone) and yell, "No! I'm POOR!" (with a "p" that would've made her neck wet) and then stay in the store for a long time just to spite her. But I didn't. I said, "No. I'm just looking." She probably thought, "No. You're tinking and you're ruining all of my aesthetic kitcheny things." I lingered for another moment and then strolled out like Meg Ryan would've, with my nose slightly in the air, but my step still playful. At least, I like to think Meg Ryan would've done it like that.
I wish he would've said that he's always thought I looked like Meg Ryan. But then I would've fallen madly in love with him, because he was tickling my ears. So I guess the femi-nazi in Indiana Jones does the job just fine.