Well you’d think that being a sober woman for the past year and a half, and not having had sex in about the same time (I know I’m no virgin, but part of living a more healthy, honest, life is that I want to hold out for someone I care about,someone who cares about me, rather than some anonymous guy in a bar) you would think I haven’t got any guilty pleasures left in life. But that’s just not true.
For one thing, I love to smoke cigarettes. My brand is Dunhill International, there’s only one tobacconist in my neighborhood that carries my brand and so I’m at his mercy (in other words if he raises the price, I’m forking it over, I am brand-loyal), and even though Brooklyn, New York is not the most smoker-friendly place on earth (can’t light up ANYWHERE indoors or in the presence of people without them giving you filthy looks)I manage to go through a pack a day, sometimes more.
This may seem silly, but hats are a guilty pleasure of mine. Can’t go in a department store and NOT try on the ladies’ hats. Even if I have no money to buy (you know, because it’s all gone to the tobacconist) I try on, and spend an hour in the hat department. I do own a few hats, but I never wear them anywhere, because I am constantly ridiculed for them. Apparently women in hats are seen as “fussy” or “too prim and proper” ‘round here. Come to think of it, I’m more ashamed about the hats than about smoking so many cigarettes.
And then there’s the fact that I fantasize about living in a 1950s household. You know, as a stay at home “kept” woman, where the man goes to work. And me all done up like a plump, Italian-American ‘50s housewife in a gorgeous vintage dress with my hair and makeup all perfect all the time.