Do you ever suddenly hate all your possessions? Your clothes mock you, “What were you thinking?!” You hate your picture frames, your dish towels, your alarm clock. You have inhabited someone else’s world, and that person is: Mrs. Bad Taste.
Mrs. Bad Taste currently wears a rocket t-shirt from Target. She also has a fondness for faded black sweatpants with a small hole in the pocket.
Mrs. Bad Taste makes you want to trade in everything—dishes, socks, lamps. You look around your house, the house you were very comfortable in—was it only yesterday?—and want none of it. Who bought this throw pillow? It doesn’t look like anything you’d pick out.
You want to gather up everything and mark it with the label: Yuck-o. You are feeling depressed and simultaneously industrious; you scoop up the offending items and set them in a box by the door.
Your friend Angela knocks. “Ready for coffee?” she chirps.
“I forgot!” you say, apologetically, “Two seconds!” You zip into the bedroom to change.
You reappear and notice Angela trying not to go through your Goodwill box. “What’s this?”
“Some junk I’m getting rid of,” you shrug. “Can we stop by Goodwill so I can drop it off?”
“Sure.” She smiles a tight grin, a grin that wants to say something else.
“Angela, it’s okay, if you don’t have time to—”
“No! No, it’s not that … I just really like that seashell picture frame, and if you’re getting rid of it,” (her voice childlike), “can I have it?”
“It’s yours! Please, take whatever you like!” You hold out the box enthusiastically, and you instantly regret it. She likes everything in there.
You now like everything in the box, too. Through the Angela-filter, everything you hated is now attractive. You’re having a serious case of Donator’s Remorse. It was all a big mistake! I’m a fool! Angela, step away from the box!
“I’m dying for that coffee,” you prod, trying to distract her, “let’s go.”
the word is: fool