Yesterday I developed the most intense cravings for a blindingly bright peacock-blue button-front sweater. Have you ever tried shopping for sweaters in July? It doesn't work well. Particularly not if, like me, you have (a) skin that gets extremely irritated by acrylic, which is the most common fabric sweaters are made of, and (b) a really pointy chin that looks bizarre with V-necks, which almost all button-front sweaters seem to possess.
So I managed to widen the craving to include any clothes that are blindingly bright peacock-blue. The color is not a new favorite of mine; peacock blue has long been a color rivaled only by purple in its dominance of my already existing wardrobe. But the sudden certainty that I desperately needed more of it, despite how much of it I already have, was new. Anyway, I tried Froogle last night, and promptly acquired both a peacock-patterned shawl and a peacock-colored shirt; but my craving for peacock-colored clothing was still not sated. It became necessary to drive downtown today - my immediately neighborhood is tragically lacking in clothing stores that cater to my personal tastes - and wander through the little boutiques that line the streets of the tourist trap/historical landmark area known as Old Sacramento (an area in which the streets contain, every single day of the year, almost as many horse-drawn carriages as cars). For some strange reason, I was convinced that this was where peacock-blue clothes were to be found. For some even stranger reason, I actually found some. Strangest of all, I didn't find them in a clothing store, but rather in, of all places, a jewelry store. At least, the name of the store was "Jewels Unique" and there were indeed some jewels lined up along one wall. The other 95% of the store space, however, was filled with skirts, and very nice skirts they were, too. And cheap! They were $10 each. I bought four of them, even though only two of them were peacock blue.
Now the problem is that I actually do need a sweater, because the woman in charge of air-conditioning decisions at my office believes that the temperature should be perpetually set 10 degrees colder than anyone else wants it to be and that we should all just put on sweaters. (Incidentally, yes, she is of menopausal age.) Perhaps the peacock shawl will suffice to stave off frostbite. It should also suffice to establish my reputation in the office as someone with the clothing tastes of a drag queen.
My craving for peacock-blue clothing in general is still not entirely vanquished either, even though I've carefully explained to it that I don't intend to feed it anymore. I'm counting on the eventual arrival of the peacock shawl in the mail to satiate the rest of the craving. I mean, I can't imagine anything in the world that could make a human being look any more ostentatiously peacocklike than that shawl, so what could possibly be left for me to desire after obtaining that? (Why do I want to be a peacock anyway? Ah, I will leave these issues for other amateur psychoanalysts to work out.)