Thursday, October 04, 2012

I'm not proud of...

Each time I sell a sectional sofa to an urban dweller with a small living room, a little piece of my internal interior decorator dies. Sectional sofas are appropriate for large open living areas; not tiny downtown condos.

That dinner theater I do is sometimes just a battle to be heard over drunk audience members who think they are funnier than we are. Note to all hecklers: you're not nearly as dashing, witty, charming or funny as you think you are. Shut up and let everyone enjoy the show, or promptly leave.

I loathe shades of beige, white and grey as color palettes for decorating. Yet it seems to be the candy that some of my customers want. Be ready to use some color if you ask for my decorating advice, or back away slowly towards the nearest exit.

Some of the clothing pieces for which I get the most compliments come from Old Navy. I know it's sweatshop labor made in outsourced lands. I know it's wrong. It's just so cute, on-trend and cheap sometimes. I can't wear fair-labor, American-made, more expensive clothes everyday.

I want to dye my hair blond. Even blonder than it is now. Not strawberry blond. Not white blond. Not 1970s looking highlighted blond. I want expensive, has to be touched up every few weeks, honey-blond all over my head.

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