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Under the Sun Cynthia Oi |
Give in to the
urge when coveting
silly, useless stuffSIX inches long, four inches wide, it was tucked way at the back of the store shelf, as if because of its pale blue-gray tones it had been set apart from its flashy candy-apple red, nuclear orange and sunset-gold cousins piled up in front.
It was a silly little thing, a pliant, shallow cup of plastic shaped like a fish, simple lines and indentations marking out scales and fins. A comma of an eye and an O-shaped mouth formed a charming, comic look of surprise.
I was shopping for a niece who had recently moved into an apartment, her first gig at solo living. Remembering what that was like for me -- lo, those many years ago -- I was in a practical mode, picking out those everyday items you don't think about until you realize you don't have them. I selected kitchen towels, veggie peelers, scrub brushes and the like, adopting as closely as I could a 20-something perspective to blend utilitarian with whimsical.
Not especially fond of leisurely mall crawls, I usually get what I need and move out. But this particular store is a favorite stop in rare desultory spells. Poking around the scores of this and thats, I spied the fish.
I think it's supposed to serve as a soap dish since it was displayed among the cotton-ball canisters, pump bottles, toothbrush holders and other bathroom-related paraphernalia. As such, there was no reason for me to get it. I don't use bar soaps, disliking the viscous goop they dissolve into after multiple twirls between wet hands.
I'm not immune to impulse purchases. In a society of abundance, wants are easily transformed into needs. I recently read about a trend for couples to have a "date car," one they can use when going out to dinner or movies sans kids. Bigger houses are also the vogue and even then, many people end up renting airless rooms in storage bunkers to stash all the stuff that doesn't fit in them.
So before whipping out the credit card, I make myself answer honestly this question: Is this necessary in life?
In the case of the plastic fish, the answer was definitely no. It would serve no purpose in my house -- unless as a container for something else.
Maybe for paper clips? But I already have a paper clip cup and it sits in the pencil drawer, buried beneath folders of stamps, note cards, letter openers, envelopes, boxes of staples and other office supplies I seldom use. How about for Post-It notes? Nope, they have a designated slot on the desk calendar. Beads? Uh-uh, beads would escape too easily and I've lots of tins for those anyway.
Unable to justify acquisition, I returned the blue fish to its colorful school on the shelf.
As the clerk, rang up the towels and brushes at the cash register, I recalled an exchange patrons had with Lucy, a woman who sells roses at the Saturday morning farmers market.
A customer who usually buys arugula and other vegetables at Lucy's booth became alarmed one day when she saw buckets and buckets of blossoms covering half the tables.
"I hope you're not going to sell only roses," the woman huffed at Lucy, not knowing that the flowers are the farm's primary product. "Roses are fine, but it's the vegetables, the foods, that are important," she said.
Lucy evenly assured her that there would always be vegetables, but that rainy weather had cut into her recent harvest.
After vegetable lady left, another woman who regularly buys three or four bunches mentioned how she sometimes felt guilty spending money on floral frivolity. Even though they weren't expensive, she really didn't need them, she said.
"Yes, you do," said Lucy. "They make you happy, right?"
The woman laughed and nodded along with the rest of us rose addicts.
"Then you need them," Lucy declared. "Don't worry about it."
I went back to get the blue fish.
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Cynthia Oi has been on the staff of the Star-Bulletin since 1976. She can be reached at: coi@starbulletin.com.