I can easily narrow down my choices to two options, but from there? Oh, the agony. If it came to a life-or-death situation, my dying words would be, ‘‘I don’t know. I have to think about it.’’
Take my recent trip to a fabric store, for example. I went with a couple projects in mind for the baby’s nursery, including reupholstering a footstool. After bee-lining to the clearance rack, I immediately got to work narrowing down the prospects.
One by one, I nixed them with ease. In my mind, each fabric was given a specific justification for not making the cut: ‘‘Ugly, too bright, too loud, really ugly, not pink enough, too pink. ...’’ I ticked through the bolts with lightning speed and a critical eye.
Then I came upon a cute pastel stripe pattern. It wasn’t offensive to my eyes and didn’t make me question what the designer was thinking. In fact, I might even say I loved it.
I should have left it at that. I should’ve walked to the cutting station, requested one yard, paid and left.
But, no. Even though I was completely content, I still had to make sure there wasn’t something even better around the corner.
This is the point that things usually go awry. I find something equally as appealing and then spend the next 20 minutes (or two weeks) agonizing over it. It’s never anything of consequence. Big decisions like the answer to ‘‘Will you marry me?’’ seem to come with ease. But whether or not to get my hair styled differently? Pressure.
As usual, I came across another adorable fabric. This one had big, funky flowers in the perfect shade of pink.
Then I stood in the aisle like a deer in headlights holding up one bolt, then the other, repeating the process over and over again until my head started to throb. I would’ve remained rooted in that spot forever, but the store was closing and a woman sweeping the floors with a giant broom forced me out of her way. If I really were a deer, I would’ve been a goner.
I ended up giving myself a pep talk: ‘‘All right, you can do this. It’s really not a big deal. Both will look great, it’s just a matter of which you prefer. You can’t lose. Just pick one. I mean, it’s only a $3 investment. ... BINGO!’’
It suddenly dawned on me that I could get BOTH for less than the price of a fast-food meal. So what if I only needed one? It’s never a horrible thing to have great fabric lying around for, um, emergencies, right?
I was like an addict trying to justify my bad habit. Realizing that buying both fabrics only would prolong my misery and likely delay the project from getting completed until after my daughter graduates from college, I stiffened my spine, took a hard look at both fabrics and set down the flowers. Good.
I’d be lying if I said I left it at that. I did have a moment of hesitation as I walked to the cutting station, even turned around for a second. But I stuck with the stripes and I’m glad.
Now I just need to decide on everything else going in her room — throw rug, crib, dresser, mobile, rocking chair — and hopefully before her November due date.