I have long eschewed the materialist, and joshed at the slaves of greed. But I have a watch fetish.
I, the otherwise non-materialistic- tomboy is felled by a fob. I, who would rather walk bare foot than bother with shoes at all, will salivate at the sight of the right timepiece. It is unseemly.
I couldn’t explain it if I tried.
One time, strolling London’s Portobello Road, my eye settled on a marvel. It caught my fancy, and then as surely, my heart.
A face was all it was. There was not even a band. So unwanted was this paraplegic that the vendor started the price too low to bother arguing. He was so chuffed to be rid of this orphan he was only a few pennies off actually paying me to take it.
I took the crippled mechanism to a watch doctor. After some radical surgeries the beast became a beauty. We lived some splendid years together.
I know the day it vanished.
In a messy move from London to Marrakech, my darling of a watch became lost in space.
Life went right on along. But in a in a low-grade, invisible way, I became unwell. An unquenchable nausea invaded at the slightest memory of my lost love. I quietly lived with this heartache that could make me lose my balance, tip me into an armchair, dribble tears down my face. My true love, it turned out, was a thing. I mourned it.
Months later, in the souk of Marrakech, buying almonds, I noticed the milky arm of a foreign lady. At the end of her slender limb, encircled at the wrist was a black soft cloth watchband. No question it was my watch.
My heart raced, sweat bunched between my breasts. The almond vendor jabbered on. Then, mid-negotiations, I bolted from the sacks of nuts and slammed into the crowd, toppling bodies out of my way. As I neared the lady, I slowed my gait to an unnatural over-excited hopping, tried to catch my breath, and prepared for the improbable show-down. Would she resist? Would she flat-out lie?
Fixated by certainty, I knew that whatever the means, the outcome could only be the watch and I being reunited. Romeo returns!
I pounced. ‘Where did you get that watch?’
Needless to say, it was not my watch. Just a grotesquely embarrassing moment for me, and no doubt a frightening one for this lady as she tore away from me.
Over the years I’ve had relationships with many other watches, all types. Though each had its sex appeal, not one of them ever lived up to that first heady liaison.
Nevertheless, I learned that to deny oneself is a shallow victory, so just the other day I indulged in a yummy new watch. It’s ‘Return on
Investment’ is exponential pleasure. Can’t really do much better than that.
In this season of gift giving I say feed the beast of your wants. Go buy yourself a thing you desire.
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On Wants
I have long eschewed the materialist, and joshed at the slaves of greed. But I have a watch fetish. I, the otherwise non-materialistic- tomboy is felled by a fob. I, who … [Read More]
Posted by Christina Oxenberg on December 18, 2009
The Usual Suspects