There are ladies in Tuesday Morning: sleek, thin, blonde hair swept into swept into a smooth french twists. Their earrings are gold, their pants and sweaters tight and black. They are in Tuesday Morning to buy a scarf, or a pillow, or a Root candle. “White Birch” smells like their ex-husband’s cologne, “Green Tea Bamboo” smells like the girl they knew in college that kissed other girls sometimes. These women in Tuesday Morning have secrets, and wants, and secret wants. They want to hold as many pretty things in their hands until their white skin turns to porcelain, then to paper, then to baby powder ash. Their homes are already choked with granite, and stainless steel, and crystal vases full of blood-red roses. What else do they need? Everything. So much more. Raw silk, faux fur, cashmere, cold, cold metal. They don’t eat much so they touch everything they can.
They spend a lot of money but not as much as they used to. Grey plastic bags are stuffed with down blankets, and inside the blankets are some monogrammed coffee mugs, bought for a friend’s birthday. It will feel good to go to the friend’s home and see the small gift in the cupboard.