Now let me add here that I have needed canisters for years. Not a few weeks or months. I’m talking years. But I still don’t have the dumb canisters.
Why? Because I am unable to commit to them.
“I kind of like these white ones with turquoise trim,” my common sense said yesterday, while I tried to seriously leave the store with the dumb canisters in my possession.
But then a siren shrilled through my brain.
“What if you wake up tomorrow or next Thursday and you hate turquoise?” my phobic side began to sob. “You might wish with all your heart that you had yellow canisters! You might want canisters with flowers on them!”
“I can’t stand flowered stuff,” my common sense barked.
“You never know,” my phobic side snapped back. “Think of the mood changes!”
It’s true. One day I might adore something. And the next day I’m hiding it from myself in the back of a closet.
I have the same problem with paint. I get absolutely nauseated by the pressure of picking a paint color. It also doesn’t help the situation that the silly little paint sample is absolutely never the same color as what I slather on a wall.
So yes, I am traumatized by being expected to commit to a shade of paint.
Very noticeable and usually very expensive purchases such as curtains or rugs also freak me out.
Last month I got hives when I bought a door mat. I admit that I didn’t like it. But it was cheap. Common sense reminded me that because the ugly door mat was so cheap, I didn’t need to worry about kinda hating it.
Someday, if I ran across a doormat I could love, then I could simply pitch the gross one.
But my phobic side dramatically screeched, “Sherri, why do you do that to yourself? Should the door mat be butt-crack ugly just because you are a thrifty mess? Do you want people to judge you, based on that nasty door mat?”
It’s not one bit fun.
But because I melt down about marrying certain colors or themes or things, a lot of my world is vanilla.
By living with a neutral-colored oatmeal canvas, discount rugs and throw pillows of various colors can be easily tossed aside with little guilt.
One day I love yellow and white.
Three days later I might only love colors like celery green and gray.
Because I do the same thing with food, I try to only shop at a deli.
The clerk asks how much bologna I’d like to buy and I tell her to please give me three or four slices. Before she finishes rolling her eyes at that request, I’m driving her over the edge of sanity by asking for one spoonful of ham salad, two spoons of egg salad and half of a piece of slab of quiche.
That shopping style comes from the experience of planning to eat bologna sandwich lunches but suddenly hating bologna, with no way of changing my taste buds.
Oh you might think I’m just flighty and fickle. And actually, you would be correct.
But still, it isn’t a bit easy to live this way. I can’t commit to colors, foods or drapes.
So of course I also cannot commit to men.
Sherri Coner is an award-winning journalist and humor writer who speaks to women’s groups. To learn about her books for women and to join her on Facebook, visit www.sherriconer.com.