Am I Normal?

Ok, tell the truth, what did you feel inside, just now, when you saw that picture? Or what about this one? Today, my bro' Chris sent Mom and me the Tiffany website. I opened it, glanced at it, yawned, and typed back, "I know I'm weird, but I'm missing the Tiffany gene." And Miss V had to 'splain me what 'Coach' is. Let's face it: I use the same purse until it's in shreds and I'm in danger of losing it due to abused & threadbare straps. I have never matched my bags to my outfits - my only purse criteria is that it has to be 'Big Ass' so my journal will fit in it.

Oh, NOOO! -- Did I hear gasps? What can I blame it on? Growing up wild with brothers & uncles & male cousins & tomboy Aunts & a dignified and somewhat fashion-conservative mama? Pre-menopause? My blond hair? Subscribing to Vogue but only for the pictures, for collage & 10-minute art & journal use? Or is there such a thing as T.I.S. - Tiffany Immune Syndrome? I couldn't sleep for thinking about it. Wondering. Doubting.

Oh, the insecurities! Because, sigh, I also have to confess that not only do I not like (or even care about, or ever think about) Tiffany & Co., I'd also own only 3 pair of shoes if it weren't for my Mom. Boots, flip flops, slippers, the essentials, right? RIGHT? (Come on, help me!!!) I don't lust for Jimmy Choo stilettos. I only learned what UGG's were after they went out of style. I thought Steve Madden was a comedian.

And I didn't know what the 'Rachel' haircut was until Friends was in reruns for, maybe, the 4th year.

Am I normal?

I DETEST malls; I get rashes coming out of them, from that Mall Smell saturing my pores. It's particular stores I adore -- Williams Sonoma, Z Gallerie, Anthropologie, anything with books. If I can find a stand-alone version of any of those places, I'll drive miles and hours out of my way to avoid a mall.

I don't even like diamonds. I mean, I seriously think they're an ugly gem.

Diamonds. Ugly. I'm in trouble, aren't I?

No shoes. No diamonds. No weekly styling, pedicure, manicure, mask, wax or makeover for me. No mall trolling. No handbag molesting. No nose pressing up against the latest Sarah Jessica Parker window display at Nordstroms. (I don't think I've ever even set a booted or flip-flopped foot in Nordstroms.) Tiffany Immune Syndrome. Designer-Comedian Dyslexia.


-- Wait! Hold it! Just a doggone second -- I'm thinking! --


HEY! I know what the problem is! (whew)

You see, the problem is, I have this very specific way of doing math. Let me demonstrate. Imagine: One pair of on-sale Jimmy Choo stiletto's: conservative estimate, uh [big time guess here], but let's go $500. Toni cocks her head, raises her left eyebrow (I can do that, for real), then shrieks: "'SCUSE ME, BUT DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH $500 WOULD BUY AT MICHAEL'S, ESPECIALLY WITH THE HORDE OF COUPONS IN MY BIG-ASS PURSE?"

Yep, that's it, that's my formula. Pretty good, huh? Prevents financial & emotional hemorraghing (& if I spelled 'hemorraghing' wrong, sue me -- I almost typed hemorrhoids. Both are apropros, actually!)

My formula is also a huge contributing factor to the on-going success of my 21-year marriage: I'm a cheap date, and proud of it. I don't need diamonds, Lover, just a $20 gift certificate to Joann's. A new outfit? Oh, you DOLL! But can we go to Good Will or Savers, so I can also get a couple of books to alter, a cool rack for my Lumiere paints, a pretty piece of china to bolster my studio desk-top clutter, & a stuffed Kermit the Frog to distract Zoe so she'll leave my keyboard alone for 6 minutes? And what's that, Big Boy? New shoes because the ones I have are starting to look like Mabel-from-the-Home? Oh, I really appreciate the thought, but -- naw, how 'bout that set of Gel pens I showed you on the Stampington website?

I'm not only normal. I'm easy! I think I can sleep now.