Alternate title: I’m addicted to Pinterest.
Mild-mannered copy editor by day. Pinning madwoman by night. Or wait. I think it might be the other way around, since I work at night.
I lurk through the pins of others. I hunt down interesting hairstyles, fun craft projects, fresh tips to keep my home clean. I pin them all, because I want to try them.
And then I don’t. Because instead of actually trying a new hairstyle, getting crafty or cleaning my apartment, I keep pinning.
I find a hilarious picture of a dog. (pinned in “makes me laugh”)
I find a picture of a spiral staircase surrounded by towering bookshelves. (pinned in “dream home”)
I find a picture of a lovely wedding gown inspired by a Disney princess. (pinned in “wedding ideas” [giggle])
I find a picture of a coffee table with a checkboard pattern made of old scarves weaved together and lacquered over. (pinned in “craft projects”)
I find more and more things I love, and as I pin I imagine that my Pinterest buddies are getting the full scope of my artistic inclinations. I mean, I may not be able to actually draw a perfect picture of a unicorn, but I pinned one and that’s basically the same, right?
As I pin more craft projects, my friends must be thinking me quite the crafty devil. I mean, not everyone will pin a project as incredible and with such a level of difficulty as a wreath made of dried orange slices wrapped around and pinned (of course) to a styrofoam ring.
These Pinterest buddies also can see how funny I am. I have such a good sense of humor! Look at this shirt with this hilarious design that I will never buy!
The act of pinning renders me completely inactive, sometimes for the better part of a day. So to keep myself in shape, I pin pictures of women running on beaches and inspirational workout quotes like, “Keep calm and use a 5-lb. dumbbell.”
Am I alone in this? Does anyone else have this strange addiction to this site? Perhaps it’s the feeling of elitism. Perhaps I like that I was invited to join, and other people have to wait in line. It’s like being on the VIP list and walking past the girls in heels whose feet will be too sore to dance once they get to the floor. Is that so wrong?