Here at Chez Evil, we've been watching the Olympics. Or rather, Mr. Sweetie has been watching, and the rest of us sit in the same room and read books, or use the laptop, or play with the guinea pig, or chew rawhide.
Until the figure skating comes on, of course.
I say "of course," but I don't really mean it. That's right--we are not following figure skating this year. "Why?" you ask. "What happened? What has changed about the Olympics that you no longer find yourself following every spiral and triple Lutz? Is it the time difference, so that you can learn the winner before you can see the competition? Is it the new scoring system? Is it the terribly misconceived disasters that pass for costumes?"
No I'm afraid it's none of those. Instead, it appears that my need for sparkly, shiny shiny glitter has increased. Increased to the point that a black bodysuit covered with exploding fireworks of sequins simply fails to hold my attention for four minutes. Sure, I can gawk in horror at the stripper costume donned by the Ukranian ice dancer--what was she thinking? White pasties complete with fringe?!? But it is not the skating that keeps me from being able to turn my eyes away (the heinousness! Is she actually auditioning to be talent at a bachelor kegger later?). Sure, it amuses me that the Italian ice dance pair were refusing to speak to each other like a bad opera--or junior high--but it doesn't keep me watching the skating.
(Italy keeps its reputation for breeding divas, but has to lose its standing as a fashion capital of the world based on what they wore on the ice.)
No, I'm afraid sequins were merely the gateway drug. My need for sparkles and shinies and glitter and bling and tacky huge gems--real or fake, just the bigger the better--has grown. I am no longer satisfied with the dosage that used to keep me happy.
Yes, that's me in the future, wearing rags and begging for change outside the Clare's Boutique.
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