I went to the UW book store last night, in search of a few farewell gifts for my friend, Becca. She is moving to San Francisco soon, to pursue a job and, eventually, a graduate degree. I bought a Lorrie Moore book for her (see previous blog post), an iTunes gift card and several magazines – informative (read: Vanity Fair) and otherwise (Us Magazine).
We’ve swapped magazines in the past and, as smart women, enjoy a little celebrity gossip, too. I also bought a copy of Allure for me, while I was there. When I got to the check-out counter, I felt embarrassed. Maybe it was because of the barely-clad World Cup soccer players on the cover of Vanity Fair – yes, that’s what it was.
I apologized to the guy at the checkout counter. “Most of these are a gift for a friend,” I said. “Oh, that’s nothing,” he said. “Lots of people do art projects” and buy more magazines than this. I felt like I was buying pornography and it was a strange and probably Catholic-inspired to feel so full of guilt. Aren’t I too old to apologize for something … that is so not a big deal?
Becca loved the magazines, and she said on Saturday, she’s going to give me all the dish about the girls from the Hills. Now, that’s what I’m talking ’bout.