This is a guest post from Sparky, of Spark in Darkness. Many of you are familiar with him from Livejournal, as well as from his insightful and often hilarious commentary here.
I have to confess to a shame that has driven Beloved and all my family to distraction for years.
I get attached to things, I do. There are times when my attachment to items goes beyond all reason, even I have to admit.
Beloved thinks I do not know of his many devious plans to finally slash and burn my shirt he calls “the sack” which is, indeed, more faded, more wrinkled and more generally fugly than any other item of clothing on the planet (I don’t care, it is soft and squishy and comfy. So there).
I still have a rather ridiculous pyramid-shaped cabinet (shaped in such a fashion as to be absolutely useless for actually storing anything in) made of cracked and splintered wood that a much younger and more credulous me once bought at a new age shop, assured of its impressive and exotic antecedents (and likely hammered together by the shop owner from some MDF offcuts and given a quick coat of ronseal). Beloved points out that it matches none of our other furniture. I point out that’s a good sign – because if we did buy furniture to match this monstrosity then we would be in need of an intervention. Yet there it is, in our bedroom, full of my rings and chains and mocking me with the sheer power of its fugly.
There is no end to the tacky little items bought in moments of supreme foolishness, given by relatives with less taste than a concussed budgerigar or just acquired and clung to out of sheer refusal to let go of my hoard of fugly.
But the prize probably has to go to Betsy. Betsy is my ever reliable car (totally jinxed myself there). She’s probably older then me. I originally bought her just after leaving university, an 11th hand screaming fire engine red (yes, it says all I know about cars that the prime descriptor is its colour) Fiat Brava. My father, an auto-electrician, took one look and found religion so he could pray for my deliverance (and again when I gave it to my little brother as a present when he left college. Dad was most appreciative)
Old Betsy ended back in my hands, causing me to forsake all over cars – much to Beloved’s utter horror. I think he prepares a serious of crafty disguises should he ever be seen in her. He has 3 times coerced me to go to various car dealers around the city begging me to buy something that is worth more than his mobile phone. Even the Senior Partners, (They Who Must be Obeyed), have dropped some subtle hints about me acquiring a more… appropriate vehicle.
And yet, she remains on my drive, as fugly as ever
So ‘fess up. What ridiculously outdated item of fugly do you keep around long after any reasonable person would have dumped it, forgotten about it and refused to admit you’d ever seen it even when questioned under torture?