Thursday, 22 May 2014
where's my Maserati?
Futons are not shoes (yes, Captain Obvious lives here) and I can't see even Imelda Marcos having that much fun shopping for one. When I saw a sign that read The Futon Shop I walked in, and ten minutes later I was getting out my VISA card.
Slight gulp moment, though. Outlining my futon needs for the store guy, I found myself falling back on the car analogy. I don't want bells, whistles and Italian styling, I said. I want cheap and dependable -- the Toyota Corolla of futons. I have used the same analogy when buying bikes, back packs, insurance, shoes (sorry, Imelda) and computers -- and it occurred to me, as Futon Guy nodded his understanding and pointed to their most durable cheap and best-selling model (which I bought) that I might be living a Toyota Corolla life.
Gulp or what?
Where do I spend happily? Where do I care for more than function? Where in my life do I want the Maserati version of whatever I am buying? Not that there's anything wrong with a Corolla. That's the whole point. But still, gulp.
I'm not upset that I don't own sports cars or first editions or 600.00 jeans -- but I am somewhat aghast that I don't seem to want any.