Mom always told me it would happen…As a silver lover from long back, I had to admit to myself that I really do, now, prefer gold. Granted, my wedding ring is white gold (looks silver).  But as for clothing, shoes, jewelry, home accents:  only gold will do.

Taste, that stalwart, has become a fickle friend.

It’s a seismic shift. I don’t know when it occurred, either. All I know is that I caught myself looking at a perfectly lovely silver top this morning and wishing–really throwing the hope out there–for it to turn into gold. (Where is Rumplestiltskin when you need him on e-bay?)

The same thing happened to me with wood. (Ba-dum-dum) I was always an oak girl. My preference was, for plain, light colored wood. Now I wouldn’t even put light wood in the laundry room. I’m drawn to espresso, mocha–colors like rich tasting coffees.

Is every aspect of my taste subject to such an obvious about-face?

What if I wake up one day and look, aghast, at my black clothes the way I see Navy? What if all of a sudden I want to be swathed in pastels (which I did prefer as a child)? What if I decide I’m not really a gym person?  Or a reader. Or a writer.  What if I decide I really do prefer math to English? Could I be a man trapped in a woman’s body?

Naaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. But I could very well be a lazy person trapped in a neurotic’s body. I’m pretty sure that I’m repressing my inner fat woman. Even as I type this, she’s struggling to step off the elliptical and get her chili cheese fries on.

I just hope that my taste doesn’t change in even more embarrassing ways. I don’t want turn on soap operas and be awed by the plotlines…or decide that celebrities’ lives are none of my business (The horror!).  I hope I don’t release a rap album or start to cook with butter. And please, if I decide that blue eyeshadow is actually, gorgeously ironic, please shoot me.

Let’s just hope that I don’t have to order my gym clothes in blue XXXL before the cycle of strange is complete….