Thursday, October 05, 2006

The Blonde Duck has Buyers Remorse

I didn't mean to. I truly didn't. Surrounded by shiny and colorful objects, I went into a coma. By the time I awoke, I was standing in my kitchen staring at two large carefully packed boxes. As I lifted out the salad plate, I could only stare at it.

"Did I really pick these out?" I wondered to myself. "Oh lord. What was I thinking?"

You were thinking they were pretty, bright and colorful. And you were thinking that those darling powder blue handpainted bowls with colorful polka dots would be so cheerful to look at in the morning. Not to mention the visions you had of turning your home into a Dr. Suess-esque wonderland of whimsy.

"Well crap," I said. "These don't go with any of my dishes. And they don't go with the striped placemats."

Well, you weren't concerned about what would match. You were distracted by the shiny objects.

I began to carry around the plate, hugging it to my chest. I had a nagging feeling in my gut and was starting to break out in a cold sweat. I looked around the kitchen. Things started to spin. I had come down with a fate worse than death, the flu or even a cold in the middle of summer vacation.

Buyers Remorse.

Buyers remorse is the dreaded condition of Duck-kind. It's worse than menstrual cramps, sinus headaches and an itch in the middle of your back that you can never reach. Only spoken of in whispers and desperate confessions over thick slices of cheesecake, buyers remorse is the worst condition a Duck can have.

And I had it bad.

"I'm utterly nuts. I've lost my mind. I'm Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde," I said to myself. "These are glorious plates, but they don't match a thing. Instead of sticking to safe, I got ballsy. And look where it got me. Now I have multicolored things that don't match my whole blue Orleans theme."

That's what you get for being whimsical, a voice chided. It's like buying clothes. You never buy the glittery pieces when a nice tailored scoopneck will last a few years.

"But I get so tired of safe," I sighed. "I just want to create this whimsical escape where streamers hang from the ceiling and people glide about in capes and crowns. On holidays the house becomes a wonderland of magical delight where everything is dazzling. My own little universe."

That costs a lot of money and would probably drive Ben to throw you out in the backyard with the molting sunflowers.

I narrowed my eyes at the striped plate. "I do dislike practicality."

Then keep the striped plates and go crazy over them not matching. Just stare at your fat chicken and be happy.

"This isn't the end," I glared, already looking up the website to return them. "It'll take me at least a week to get over this. Buyers Remorse isn't something that just disappears, you know."

Just think of how you'll decorate for Halloween. And the sandcastle cake you want to decorate with cinnamon and glazed frosting.

I think I may be on the road to recovery.
The Blonde Duck holds no responsibility for anything said in this post that is offensive. Currently, she is under Dr.'s orders to visit the mall as soon as possible in order to heal properly for Buyer's Remorse. There, she is to buy several pretty things to heal her conscience. She should be completely healed by Monday. Any suggestions of pretty things would be appreciated. ******