I can’t commit to plates.
I have a cupboard full of mixed and unmatched plates from various thrift stores that I’ve collected over the past 4 years. I love them all as individuals, but don’t love a single one of them enough to buy all of my plates in that pattern.
I can’t commit to plates. Dinnerware is serious. It says something about you – it’s a way to define yourself, an expression of your identity.
I’m not ready for my own pattern yet.
I’m almost ready. I know myself. I just know that I can’t handle a decision like this right now.
My friend Nicole was visiting me this weekend. We went shopping and she steered me towards the plates. I looked at a lot of nice plates and walked away. I just couldn’t settle.
I like blue and white. But do I like it enough to say that blue and white can peek through my food at me every night? Will blue and white be on the underside of my guests forks and knives at every party? Will blue and white comfort me like my dark brown plate or cheer me up like my rose pattern and gold trimmed plate? Or, are blue and white too safe? Will I no longer be satisfied with blue and white in another 5 months? 5 years?
And if I settle on blue and white, do I want flowers or stripes or that funky little Dutch windmill pattern?
Or, do I want something with birds on it? I really like birds – enough to tattoo one on my left shoulder, you would think I like them enough to get bird plates. Why don’t I just buy some stupid bird plates?
Or, something really crazy, maybe red or orange – anything totally flashy.
Or, green. There are some days only cereal in my green tree bowl will do the trick.
Can you see why this is such a huge decision? I am just not in a good place in my life right now to make it.
I’m moving. In 8 months, I’m moving. If I buy my plates before the move, not only do I risk breaking them in the move, I risk them not fitting in with my new life – wherever that will be.
I just don’t feel settled enough for my own plates yet. I like the freedom of knowing that if one of my plates get dropped, I am out fifty cents and I don’t have to seek a specific replacement in a potentially discontinued pattern. It just seems so stressful to have a set of plates.
Maybe my anxiety over the pressure I feel to find my own unique set of dinnerware is a sign of commitment phobia. Nicole razzed me all weekend about being a total commitment-phobe. I told her that I was just like Holly Golightly from Breakfast at Tiffany’s– waiting for the right time to buy some furniture and give my cat a name….except with plates. I have furniture and my cat is named Peek-a-boo.