As regular readers will know, sometimes words in my mind get up to all kinds of tricks, seemingly independent of what I want or will or wish. It's like they stealthily rampaged the inside of my skull, Lord of the Flies style, and they ain't giving it back. As a result, whenever I want to use the word 'obsessed', my mind's voice reiterates it "'ob-sessed.'" And then repeats it, with a twist for good measure. "'Robsessed.'"
Yes. It does.
It's extremely unfortunate, especially as my loathing for the entire Twilight franchise (let's just call the whole joblot a franchise, shall we, and have done with?) is thorough and sure, even though I rarely give it a second thought. And yet, that cheeky nod to the more hysterical end of pop culture is seemingly here to stay.
Accepting the cringeworthy and mystifying inevitable, I admit that I am obsessed (ob-sessed. Robsessed.) with jewellery at the moment. But not just any jewellery- colourful, Swarovski-chained, load-'em-up jewellery that would drag me down to the depths of Sydney Harbour should I ever suffer the misfortune of being shoved off a ferry by a rabid Twilight fan.
Obviously, there is a little trash-fiend inside me saying 'more is more' and when I come across swagger like this, I am helpless to obey it's glittering siren call.
I give you Fenton!
I give you Tom Binns!
All I can do about this bloodlust for now is breathe heavily over the computer screen and hanker. And plot DIYs that will probably never happen because I am time poor and usually lose interest halfway through braiding and clipping the thing together. It's sorry state of affairs all around.