Fruit and Fiber (and a Unicorn)

Brought to you from the Katy Perry CD case that keeps on giving.

 Fruit Spread Necklace

Top: Material Girl, Macy's

Bra top: Boscov's

Skirt: Eric and Lani, Macy's

Shoes: Guess, DSW

Bag: Harajuku Lovers, ROSS Dress for Less

Sunglasses: Claire's

 Avocado Aficionado Necklace

Top: So, Kohl's

Skirt: H&M

Shoes: Worthington, JCPenney

Bag: XOXO, ROSS Dress for Less

Belt: Marshalls

Sunglasses: Cloud Nine, Ocean City

I Believe in Unicorns Necklace 

Tank: Arizona Jeans, JCPenney

Camisole: Worthington, JCPenney

Jeans: Candie's, Kohl's

Shoes: Bucco, Kohl's

Bag: Bisou Bisou, JCPenney

Sensible eating is nothing without the reward of an occasional treat.  Fruit may be good for the colon, but it's fruitcake (okay, regular cake) that makes us sing.  It's the same with jewelry making, and this otherwise heart-healthy post's indulgent interloper is none other than the unicorn.  It even looks a little like candy, what with its clear, colorful, lollipop-like acrylic. And just in time for Easter too.  If you end up with a unicorn in your basket instead of a bunny, then you have one funny mummy (if you're British.  If not, then you just have a [still brilliant] but assonance-free funny mommy.)

Easter means spring, and spring means a great time to stock up on jewelry supplies.  I was doing just that at A.C. Moore last week when a woman in line started asking me questions: What are you making?  (Me: Necklaces)  Do you sell them?  (Me: Yes)  Are you doing the Ocean City Craft Fair next weekend?  (Me: No, I don't do craft shows anymore, [adopting the same tone as people who say they no longer eat carbs].)  I gave her my card without uttering a syllable of sales speak, paid for my beads, and went on my merry way.  Never mind that I was wearing one of my necklaces and had only to unzip my jacket to show off my skills.  I just wasn't feeling it.  The whole exchange made me wonder why I was so hesitant to promote myself in person, yet spent so much time and energy (ahem) crafting my presence online. 

Just days later I found myself in another checkout line chat.  This time it was the cashier who struck up the conversation, commenting that her two-year-old niece would love my lollipop-themed necklace.  I offered up a jokey "I made it myself" but didn't give her my card, partly because my necklaces would challenge the neck strength of anyone younger than ten, and partly because I didn't want to seem pushy.  Which was ironic considering that while shopping I'd been ambushed by a stranger proffering a coupon for cellulite removal.  Flummoxed, I discarded it into the nearest discount lotion bin (I was in Marshalls) as soon as the stranger was gone, half-remembering some story my aunt had told me about chloroformed business card scams.  "That chick had moxie," I thought, although not necessarily the good kind, as disturbing shoppers to suggest that they would benefit from having the fat sucked out of their thighs is the last word in tacky.  Still, I couldn't help but think that I could probably benefit from more moxie of my own, and that it would jive well with the "do one thing that scares you every day" mantra playing on a loop in the back of my head.

Next time, craft supply and discount fashion workers and shoppers, next time.