Understated. Basic. Scholarly.

A few weeks ago my watch battery died. I usually only keep a watch for one battery life anyway. I know it's wasteful by a lot of people's estimations, but I am typically ready for a new timepiece by about the second or third year, which is the average battery cycle. My recently-laid-to-rest watch was silver with links. Big and clunky just like I liked my watches for a long time. A woman's watch but tough, almost masculine.

I bought that watch about 2 and a half years ago. The same day I bought all new underwear, CKB from Hecht's, and got salon nails for the first time. I was sad beyond meausure and had never shopped that way before. I don't even mean the amount of stuff, or the money spent. I was trying to lose myself. Other than the nails and the perfume, which were obviously luxuries, I needed the things I bought that day. I picked the watch because it made me feel strong. It appealed to a coldness in me that loathed whatever made my heart so vulnerable to the crushing shame I felt. Even the nails that day were about that. It had nothing to do with femininity. They were nails that, in the words of Cake, "shined like justice."

So, when that watch stopped ticking 14 days ago, I decided that I wanted a smaller, thinner watch--one with a leather/faux leather band--with a small face. A classy, but unpretentious "woman's watch."

Last night, as is the yearly custom, Sarah gave me a few presents to open early. One of them was just such a watch. She said she got it because it made her think of literature and grad school. It was exactly what I had envisioned.