That's a genuine beaver fur wrap right there, my friends - the kind of dead animal that would make Priscilla Presley proud.
I had a fairly ordinary day yesterday; so it was wonderful to get to the Brisbane Arts Theatre in the evening and muck in ahead of our big Winter Wardrobe Sale tomorrow.
There are SO many costumes and vintage/retro clothes to be sold - and hats! Boxes and boxes of hats! I got told off for gasping too much at various beautiful items being tagged at just $5 or $10. I think I'm going to go a bit wild tomorrow.
At one point, the temptation became too great, and things deteriorated into what can only be described as a Pretty Woman-style dress-up montage. The furs got a good run.
Now is it wrong of me to admit that I quite... like... furs?
I had a beautiful beaver, and frankly, I couldn't stop stroking it.
I know it's terribly politically incorrect to say that. These days we shudder at the thought of little animals being bred just to die for fashion. Of course historically the wearing of dead animals was more a necessary barrier against the elements; but in the age of nylon and poly-cotton and lycra, we don't need it anymore. No more gore for us, thanks, we've got Gore-Tex.
But furs are just so... luxurious. So... olde-worlde, reminiscent of a bygone age of glamour. So... naughty. I find myself drawn to them. Drawn like a carefree beaver towards a baited trap.
Ouch.
So confess, ladies and gentlemen, as you ready your wallets for the assault on the BAT Winter Wardrobe Sale - what (suitable for work) things are you drawn to that you know you really shouldn't be?
