Pray for CA columnist Wendi Thomas. She's been having a hard time lately and will no doubt benefit from divine guidance as she faces many difficult decisions in the days ahead. Her Sunday column, "Serve Me Well, Oh Fluffy Wonder," was a brave confession:
"Right there — in that stuffy space between who you are and who you're expected to be — is where life can go horribly awry," she wrote. "A man who knows he's gay but marries a woman anyway. A college freshman who has an abortion because she cannot bear to disappoint her parents. A wife who stays with the man who beats her, because the fear of being alone hurts more than the fists sting. In ways big and small, many of us are unable to be ourselves because we have convinced ourselves we should be otherwise."
So true. But what caused Wendi to identify with self-loathing gays, knocked-up teenagers, and battered wives? She had to buy a new sofa.
"My best friend walked into the living room and declared rather rudely, 'Girl, you need a new couch,' Wendi courageously explained, adding that her mother had offered "more than once" to pay for an interior designer.
Trapped between socioeconomic pressure and family expectations, Wendi's dilemma was exactly like battered spouses living in fear for their lives or the plight of an unwed, uninsured teen.
"Not unlike the candor of an AA meeting, I had to confess to my sponsor (read: interior designer) who I really am," Wendi concluded. "My name is Wendi, and I enjoy long naps on my sofa, as does my Rottweiler. I read on my sofa, write there, practically live there. I cannot promise not to drool on the upholstery during a siesta. I will not vow to eat only at the dinner table."
It's special that Wendi trusts her readers enough to turn her column into a personal ad, but this sounds oddly reminiscent of a fluffy fetish. That is what this was about? Right?