Fess-up Friday: Guilty Pleasures

When I hear "guilty pleasure," my mind immediately goes to food. Surprise. Now that I'm thinking about it, you could say a lot of things, and my mind would go straight for the same target. I think about food a lot. I suppose you could call that a guilty pleasure in itself since I'm supposed to be thinking about covariance estimation and other thinky, statistics sorts of things.

My digestive system, however, does not allow me to indulge in foodie guilty pleasures as most people would see them. I eat lots of dessert-ish things, but most of them are quite healthy, no matter how good I find them to taste. I could go on and on about my musical guilty pleasures. I listen to a lot of shit. (See this post. I took a quick brain-scan of the past week to search for other behaviours that might make a good candidate GPoW (guilty pleasure of the week.) Found one:

I say, with a little apprehension, that I'm not your typical girly-girl. I'm very independent, usually pretty liberal in my social viewpoint, and, I'd like to think, modern. Now, I'm going to preface the following with a disclaimer: don't take me too seriously. I don't. It's essential for sanity-maybe even survival. So don't be pissed off at any of the following. And please don't pin me as the crazy far-left-field feminist who gets pissed off at the idea off at the idea of the woman taking the man's last name. I'm not one of those either. However, I do pride myself on being capable of being happy without having to drape myself on a dude's arm. I'm definitely not a serial dater. I live in a liberal neighborhood in Columbus with tons of restaurants, shops, and boutiques, including a little high-end bridal boutique, Big Rock Little Rooster. I run by this place at least twice a week, and every time, I find myself slowing so that I allow myself to gawk at the gorgeous dresses in the window. I mean gawk, mouth open, dazed look in the eyes, and almost non-responsive to outside stimuli.

No, I'm not engaged. I'm not even in a serious relationship. Hell, I don't even have a boyfriend. But I can't stop my eyes from clinging to the dream-like displays in that damn window every time I run, or walk, by. I'll admit it; I've thought about fabricating an identity so that I could make an appointment and go try some on. But only for a half second. I'm not that bad. No, I do not have a Pinterest board for wedding ideas. But it's not just Big Rock Little Rooster. Girl Tights and I were leaving CRC Westerville after this week's Monday Night Run and stumbled upon this place, just a few doors down. I had to stop and press my nose up against the window despite bolting out of the store out of extreme hunger.