Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Snoring in the Lap of Luxury

There must be another Mayrav Saar out there, one with a much bigger
petty cash drawer than mine, because I've been getting a ton of
catalogs and e-mails for luxury goods lately.

Every time I open
my inbox, I'm confronted with things I could not possibly afford. A $16
bar of Coco Chanel soap? Seriously? If I don't go to the grocery store
soon, I'll be showering with Windex.

The only reason Coco
Chanel (and Coach, and Louis Vuitton, et al.) is likely targeting me is
because it's banking on my weak constitution and need to be liked.
Surely, if I want to be in the "in crowd," I'm going to seek to wear,
drive and, apparently, bathe in the "in products."

But these
agents of opulence are wasting their time on me: I've evolved beyond
the point of coveting my neighbor's Italian handbags. Right now, all I
aspire to is a good nap.

I'm overworked, stressed out and, I
suspect, not alone in feeling this way. Drive on the freeway at rush
hour and peek through the windshields of the cars behind you. You won't
have to look hard to find the bleary-eyed guy in the Benz yawning into
his Bluetooth.

Every high-end designer on the planet is
clamoring to create "affordable" clothing lines for Target and other
hoi polloi hot spots. But instead of a lifestyle of luxury, what they
really should be marketing is a lifestyle of lounging.

I'd buy it in a second.

months, a furniture store near my house kept a big Moroccan-looking
daybed in its window. And for months, I'd walk by the window and
fantasize about buying it, but I couldn't figure out why. It wouldn't
go with any of the furniture in my house. And, really, it looked a
little cheaply made.

It took me awhile to realize: I don't want
a daybed. I want the time to recline on a daybed. I couldn't envision
the thing in my house, but I could (and did) see myself curled up on
it, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a book in the other.

realization served me well for a while. But I recently suffered a
momentary memory lapse (probably due to lack of sleep), forgot all
about my daybed epiphany and impulse-bought a couch. I walked into a
furniture store, saw a big, overstuffed couch. And I bought it.

is not the way I normally make large purchases. But, oh, this couch.
It's so deep my feet barely dangle off the edge of it. I don't really
even need an ottoman (but for an extra $600, I bought one, too). It's
fluffy. It's seductive. It requires its own ZIP code.

I had to
sell our coffee table to make room for it, and its monstrous size means
I'm going to have to buy a larger area rug. But, I told myself, just as
fashionistas make sacrifices for fancy clothes (try walking a mile in
their 5-inch Christian Louboutin heels), so, too, does this comfortista
give up a few things for the sake of something soft to sit on.

is quite pleased with my purchase (which is good, since I told him it
is his anniversary present). Toddler Zev is equally pleased with our
"brand-new, pretty couch." But now that it's in our home, sprawled
across our living room in all its overstuffed glory, I'm having second

It's not that the couch doesn't look great in our room
(well, actually, it doesn't; that will be remedied with the new rug).
It's just that my beloved couch has been in our home for a few weeks
and I have yet to spend a relaxing afternoon cuddled deep into its

In fact, at this very moment, it is sitting there,
eyeing me cruelly while I write this a few feet away. I'm working, but
it's beckoning me to rest.

Come here! Ignore your deadlines, and let me hold you. Why did you buy me if not to snuggle?

a woman pulling a maxed-out credit card from a Gucci wallet, I'm
finding that having the appearance of something – whether it's wealth
or leisure time – isn't enough. I may have the world's best couch
potato couch, but it's doing me no good while I'm in the fryer.

Buying into a lifestyle – whether it's one of luxury or lounging – requires more of a commitment than I was willing to admit.

no, I don't want any of the sparkly, leathery things being advertised
in my stack of catalogs. But I would love to lie on my couch, thumb
through those pages of luxury goods and dream – perchance to sleep.

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