OK, for the record, I was raised by Hippie-Freak-Heathens, very well educated, highly evolved artist/intellectuals, but HFH's none the less, I mean c'mon, my father wanted to name me Lotus Blossom for *uck sake...but I am digressing. My point, if I have one here, is that we never went to church, save for the three times we went with Baba and Gogo during our rare Christmas visits. So for me, to feel that I have done something wrong, to know that I am feeling something wrong, well that comes from the moral fiber within myself. I am having feelings for an inanimate object, a material thing. While I may not be 'sinning', I can tell you my obsession with this frilly vermilion postage stamp of a trench coat (3/4 sleeves? are you kidding me?!) feels pretty dirty, OK, not 'dirty' per se, but there are certainly other things more deserving of my thoughts and click thru time than of fantasizing about wrapping myself in a silly trench of cotton with a bit of nylon for sheen, the ruffle trim accentuating my decollete, those three-quarter raglan sleeves allowing admirers to, well, admire my slender wrists, and that smart self-belt which tucks into a bow a the waist, its length falling to my knees. I want this coat. I must have this coat. Oh, the things that might happen if I had this coat. Thankfully, my moral fiber (yes, it's probably more of a mores thing, but who really cares), that 'single mommy with just enough scratch for the essentials' fiber, keeps me from slappin' down the plastic। Sighhh; I suppose I'll go flagellate myself now.
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