"Some things just aren't meant to be"
"Nothing Lasts Forever"
"If at First You Don't Succeed, try, try again."
"If it came from and outlet mall, be prepared to replace it within six months."
What you see here, are the sad remnants of my brief venture into the world of feminine accesories,specifically of the reproduction-baroque-Marie Antoinette-redux variety. Yes, my wondrous-shiny fake pearl and pewtar wristwatch committed suicide last night, and you would to if you were forced to be on the wrist of someone while they heave a 30lb trash bag full of coffee grounds into a dumpster on a rainy Sunday night. Sadder even, is that said watch had to be carried home in a plastic food-handler's glove.
So what now? Do i take this as a sign that wrist jewelry and I should part ways forever? Was the watch offended that I only looked at it's sparkles and never actually used it to tell time (because I can't read clocks)? Or is there a deeper meaning here in regards to my femininity? The juxtaposition of a snapping wristband sending faux pearls bouncing along the floor of a theater concessions kitchen where bleach buckets and URNEX abound, causes one to wonder if perhaps my wrist is not the best place for pretty things to be. Has my environment won the battle over whether I continue my slow return to the world of high heels and picnic dresses- the world I left behind somewhere in the late 90's- or am i doomed to jeans-and-t-shirts-ville, where i've had uneasy citizenship for quite some time. Can i not live in both? And what about the fact that I've always been allergic to the basic metals used in earrings, and thus, can only wear them about two days a week? Must I face the reality that perhaps, I'm not allowed to dress up?
Maybe I should just replace my watch and not wear it when I'm working.