Subtitle: No One Cares About Your Sconces.
And yet, I really, really want to tell you about my sconces. And my storage ottoman. And how I want to restore the inlaid table my husband's grandparents brought over from Damascus and put it in the dining room. Yes, I have a raging case of new-homowner-itis. I feel bad about my newfound obsession with interior decorating, because, really, it's not that interesting to anyone who doesn't live in my house. But I can't stop talking about it.
These days I feel like half of my brain is occupied by the house and the other half by the baby, making me the least interesting conversationalist in the world. Like, I'm pretty sure I used to have interests. I just can't remember what they were. For example, two years ago I was at ComicCon. Last year I kept up with all the news as it was posted. This year I'm like, Oh, there's an Avengers movie?
Being dull has its advantages, though. I'm completely unspoiled for Inception. Maybe I won't get upset about stupid beauty trends anymore because I won't know they exist. And I'm pleased to say that I still can't tell the Kardashian sisters apart.
Someday I'll renew my ability to make entertaining small talk. Probably around 2024. In the meantime, would you like to hear about my new rugs?
Y'know, there are people out there who want to hear about your scones. I mean, sconces. Heck, there are people out there who write multiple books about dirigibles (we used to call them blimps) (the dirigibles, not the people), and there are people out there who actually pay money for these books. One of these writers is even in my extended family.
ReplyDeleteNo matter what you are interested in, someone else out there is interested in it too. Especially in InternetLand, where it's easy for crazies to find other crazies.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go curate my zoanthid collection.
Next time, ask my BIL about cephalopods.
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