He Looks Like a Blond Tootsie Roll

Lucificken has turned me into a classical-music-listening, tea-drinking, sewing freak. I spend my mornings sitting in a chair positioned in sunlight in the kitchen with the small monster on my lap and the evenings with said cup of tea and the small monster at my feet. It's gotten so bad that last night I was reading the New Yorker and delighting in the absurdity of its columnar ads (as Chicken curled at my side): "Freudian Slippers" (only $24.95), "Small Bird Bowl—Add zest to your nest!," "The Wallet Pen—Now, you always have a pen."

Then I saw an object I felt I must have. I must go to fieldandrose.com and purchase what is called the "American Leaf Charm Bracelet." How lovely those little sterling silver and 18 karat gold oak, maple and sycamore leaves looked to me. I've always had a weak spot for the trees of my childhood, and suddenly I felt that wearing them around my wrist was exactly what I needed. I remembered the sound of my childhood dog, Ellie, barking as she jumped up and down on her chain tied to the big oak in our backyard. I remembered looking out my childhood window at the falling maple leaves in autumn.

Then I spent a moment considering the bracelet's potential ugliness. How mixed-metal was this objet? It's hard to see in the black and white photo. Would I hate this thing as soon as it was on my wrist? Likely.

I came down from my leaf-charm-bracelet high and put the magazine down. No, Lucificken will not have his way with me. I will not become the woman who listens to WQXR, drinks chamomile tea and darns her clothing just because she has some time in the evening. Most important, I will not buy that bracelet—I will not become 80 years old before my time. Fuck you, American Leaf Charm Bracelet and every dangly sound you'll ever make. I bet you make some pretty sounds though. Hm.