Sensory overload

Yesterday was one of those days in which I had many, many, MANY lifetimes, one of which included a fashion show at the Town Club on South Temple. (The Town Club is sort of a female version of the Alta Club, although females can now join the Alta Club. But whatever. It's not like that's the world I reside in anyway.)

At any rate, the models wandered amongst us with their super fancy outfits (basically the look was Clothes as Architecture) in a variety of uber tactile fabrics and here's the thing. I LIKE TO TOUCH. I do! Whenever I encounter fibers at the store I have to seriously maul them before committing to a relationship. So it was really, really hard NOT TO MAUL THE MODELS and their cashmere-y, suede-y, nubby knit-y, fake pony print-y clothes. I had to sit on my hands and it was distressing and I knew as soon as the show was over there would be an orgy of touching things on my walk home.

I got an early start in re the touching part. When the show was over, I reached across the table to touch the centerpiece to see if those were real cabbage leaves (they weren't), and as I withdrew my hands I knocked a full glass of ice water into my lap. The water splashed up and even made my glasses spotty.

There was stunned silence.

And I almost said, "You think THIS is bad? Once I set the table on fire at the Dodo."

Good times.