Monday, 25 March 2002 | So great

Tonight I went on a search for a bell to put on my cat, before any more neighborhood animals die between her paws. The last bell she wore she accidentally removed herself; the key ring-like wire that attached the bell to her collar was found stretched out and stuck in a couch cushion. Apparently she fell asleep, hooked her wire underneath a few threads, and woke up to find her neck fused to the cushion. Eventually she pulled herself free; unfortunately I slept through all the excitement.

On my search for the replacement bell, I stopped by a pet store, which didn't have bells but actually had sweatshirts for dogs that said, "I'm proud to be an American." At the craft store I had better luck, but since it only sold bells in bulk, I now have something like fifty of them, with use for exactly one.

For some reason, whenever I'm in a craft store (which isn't very often), I find it tempting to purchase things like pipe cleaners and googly eyes and stickers, though it is clear to me that I don't have a use for any of those things. I manage to refrain, mainly because when I was younger, I would hold onto things like mesh and yarn and scraps of cloth for years, waiting for a need to create, but no purpose ever came.

On one of the many aisles of junk I walked down, I came across some of those dangly earring bases and was reminded of my first pair of dangly earrings. It was 1984, I was in fourth grade, and they were made of neon yellow metal mesh that hung down and folded around themselves like sugar cones. The first day that I wore them, I was very aware of their presence, my earlobes heavy, the metal mesh dusting my neck when I walked. That awareness increased after I overheard that I "thought [I] was so great" because I was wearing dangly earrings. (The following week Nicole was accused of thinking she was so great because of a white ribbon barrette she wore in her hair. Girls are so sweet.)