inappropriate

Did you know I have a hard time letting things go? This Poochie compact stands in testament to my weakness. Do you remember Poochie? She is a dog. Thus her name. Those hot pink ponytails are really her ears, I think, and the brown dog in a tutu behind her is the perfect magical touch.

This morning Erik slept in. I had enough of waiting and woke him up at 9. We went to the craft store so I could buy some string for binding ELM #38. It was hard to find among all those fake flowers, trim, safety pins, needles, yarn. "I know how much you love the craft store," I told Erik, "So I don't want to make us leave until you're ready." This was sarcasm that made us laugh.

The worker asked, "Will that be all?"

I said yes. She put it in a bag. "Oh, I don't need a bag," I said.

"Oh, you don't want a bag. Thought you might like one, to keep it clean!" she said.

Later, remembering this, I wished I had said, "I like it dirty," because craft stores make me feel that way. Wholesomeness makes me want to say something inappropriate.