You stop dead in your tracks and do a double, sometimes triple take.
The attraction is immediate, the pull is irresistible...like someone's playing at your heart strings. Post lovestruck sighting, your mind is filled with nonsense and an obsession is born.
I'm not talking about a Hottie McTottie sighting, as fun as those are.
I am talking about something serious here.
That limited edition Prada purse, those bejewelled sandals and crystallized ballet slippers, that chain-strapped construction of a heavenly bag... and the rockin' dress that'll set you back a paycheque. Or two.
In these fanciful moments I empathize with Kate Winslet's character in the film, The Holiday. She speaks of love and says this, "There's another kind of love: the cruelest kind. The one that almost kills its victims. It's called unrequited love. Of that I am an expert."
Dearest Kate, my heart aches too. I adore these objects, but they do not love me back. I will never be with them, and must continue my life coveting what can never be mine.
In these instances, crimes are committed. Crimes of the heart.
Exhibit A - The offenders.
My only hope is to go broke uniting with my loves... or find cheaper objects of obsession.
