A Fetish Is Born
20 January 2011 at 4:13 pm

I played hooky on Monday, morning yoga, afternoon wine tasting, the works.

We picked up a bottle of wine, a baguette and some cheese, a triple cream we'd sampled at a cheese and sparkling wine tasting several weeks ago that we were still dreaming about, and had a picnic in the park.

Our bliss was infiltrated by a nuclear family, thin blonde wife and kids, father pregnant with the sacrifice of years of sitting behind a desk so his family could afford matching denim shirts for a phamily photo session.

At one point, the photographer tried to get the little boy and girl, who were clearly Over It, to laugh like they were being tickled.

"We don't tickle in our family," the mother said quietly, teeth clenched, lips frozen in a smile. "It's a control issue."

The boyfriend and I looked at each other, eyes wide and lips pursed in an attempt to suppress the snickers, and spent the rest of the afternoon discussing the various fetishes those kids are going to have in two decades.


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About me
Hi. Morgan, 27, of Santa Barbara, CA. I am a hypocritical admirer of rhetoric (when it is my own) and an observer of literary trends. A secret: I don't take anything very seriously, and that includes myself.