Tuesday, October 19, 2004

I blame Chanel



Because nothing makes me feel better than sympathy, I've decided to write to you, my devoted readers,from my sick bed.

Imagine me, propped up by well upholstered pillows, steaming tea at my bedside, my white-posh-hotel monogrammed housecoat wrapped around me, capped with a cashmere Burberry scarf. It seems that no matter what I do, I feel even worse than before.

My obese housecat Moscow is standing sitting gaurd over me, and the drone of some voice on NPR keeps me company. I detest being sick. I can't be sick. I have too many things to do. Besides, I haven't got a housekeeper, and being sick without a housekeeper is absolutely no fun. Think about it. I have to get up to pour myself more tea! The idea is horrible.

In my entire life, I can remember being sick about 5 times. I think my icy constitution keeps the flu and colds away...not even they want to deal with me. On occasion, a brave strain makes it through and into my svelte, bookish build. I am being molested by a cold.

As an almost librarian working with the public, you know where I am going to cast the blame. It is the public, with their sticky books and open coughs, and spray action sneezes. It is the children who touch me, the patrons who are "close talkers", and a lack of hygene all around. Despite my sudsy bath sponge baths, vitamin routine, and hand washing mania-one sneaks up on me once in a while.

And this leads me to my conclusion. I blame Chanel. I let Marc Jacobs take a break, and began wearing Allure. It is the perfect fragrance for the perfect librarian. But perhaps it was the allure of Allure that drew all those patrons inches too close to me. "follow the fragrance" they thought, and like children looking into the Christmas display windows of Macy's...they gaze upon me much too closely. I can hear them from 2 feet away..a normal comfort zone, and yet...inches from my face they regale me with stories of lost books, burglaries that have left them bereft of their library materials, and other amazing feats of biblio-loss.

They must touch my palm when giving me fine money, even though I have taken the time to master the art of "the non-tactile pass off". And as I've mentioned before, I am not allowed to take liberties with the Lysol that sits so close to the desk.

I imagine I'd use it like mace anyway.

I am tired now. I need to rest. Send me your well wishes, you dear dear readers.

Moral of this blog: Even sickness can be stylish.

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