I Get A Kick Out Of You

I have a new best friend: his name is Michael.



I go to his place at least once a week. While I'm at Michael's, I wander around aimlessly. The air is soft and peaceful, thick with the artificial, yet oddly calming, smell of silk flowers and scented candles. I can drift up and down the aisles, gazing at the endless possibilities. I know there are others who love him too; sometimes I catch their eye as we both spy the last silver ink pad at the exact same moment. But we're not competitive. I'm content with buying gold leaf paint and she is just as happy to buy multi-color yarn. We exist together peacefully. Michael has enough room for all of us.



I love the way he cares about me. I know it from the way he offers me deals for just one dollar as soon as I walk in the door. And he reminds me about every upcoming holiday - just in case I was going to forget. Just yesterday he reminded me that Valentine's Day is near and St. Patty's is mere moments later by providing a shelf of pink and red ribbon, with heart wooden boxes and cupid-imprinted stamps. Shamrocks galore wink playfully, begging to be affixed to a decorative bag, should I feel so inclined.



Unfortunately, for all that he does for me, Michael can be hurtful at times. Michael is gifted with the ability to be crafty, whereas I am not. So when I am at Michael's I sometimes find myself moved by the siren song of scrapbooking. Or knitting. Or necklace making. Or perfuming. There are so many appliques you can buy! But I know (from experience) that I will glue my fingers to the cotton with the hot glue gun or drop the fragile glass jar and Michael will be ashamed of me. So I scuttle away, empty-handed and embarrassed.



The other problem with Michael of course is that I suspect Mr F is a little concerned about our relationship. And perhaps he should be. Because I spend a lot of money on my new friend (more than he even knows). But I don't have much to show for it. I have ribbon, and a calligraphy pen, and some cardstock. And moss and flower foam. And a hot glue gun. And 32 glue gun inserts. Which are sitting in my closet. And will make a cameo appearance at my wedding. If I can figure out what to do with them.



But Michael made me bring them home! He knew I would take good care of them. Like he has taken care of me.



I can't wait to visit Michael's again next week. If only his handmaidens of checkout weren't so slow. (Really? Ten minutes to try to wrap a mason jar? Come on, people.)