Even the simplest things are dangerous. They sit and whisper to you in quiet voices, trying to seduce you with their simplicity. They try to seduce you away from the mundanity of everyday.

Crayons call to you to grab them and scrawl across what's near, be it paper, a magazine, or a whitewashed wall. Take them and scribble, scrawl. No dignified handwriting, no careful sketching, just pure raw emotion, pure splashes of color.

The fruit stand on the corner you walk by to work tries to tempt you with its fresh sweetness. The fruit always looks so much more alive than in the stores, in these stalls, and you know you're on a diet and are allowed exactly X portions from Y foodgroup, and you've planned out your fruit for the day, the ripe, soft peaches promise fragrent juice down your chin and a pleasant tickle on your tongue all afternoon long. You know you're not supposed to. But by then, can you resist

The music, playing softly in the restaurant does its best to make you want to dance to it, give up pride and propriety and just let go. It knows you probably won't tango on the patio, but if it croons just enough to you, maybe you just might.

The bubblebath sitting in the back of your cabinet talks to you, softly striving to seduce you in the luxury of TIME. It whispers what if you just take a moment for yourself, take some time and draw a steaming hot peaceful bath you'll emerge renewed and beautiful in the glow--if you just give in and take the time. But you've got to make that sacrifice.

Kittens look more harmless than nearly anything, sweet small balls of fur pleading at you with green and golden eyes. They want to tempt you into letting them in your lap, pet them, talk sweetly to them. As you're lulled into furry warmth, needlesharp claws kneed into your legs just to remind you they're in control. Again the next moment all fluff and sweetness.

The roses on your desk, so rich and red and full dare you to smell them. They promise their fragrance and blessing if you come near enough to partake. But that delight comes with something other--if you smell, if you lose yourself in the perfume, as you smell you must remember. You must remember and admit, if even to yourself, that you're not as awful as you think you are, as you want to believe. While you smell, you must remember someone loves you enough to bring those roses and it dishonors that love to loathe yourself at the same time you bask in such a wonderful gift.

Even velvet, sleek and smooth, is dangerous. How can a fabric be dangerous? Oh, but believe me, it's cunning and wily. It makes you forget, like its counterpart the flowers. As you touch the fabric--and you can't escape its allure once you're so close--you get lost in it. Not smooth like silk nor soft like angora but somewhere between, something lush and plush and wonderful. Once you touch it, you've lost. It will seduce you into seducing yourself. When you wear it or hold it, when you wrap in or around it, you forget who you are and become someone worthy of wearing velvet. You become beautiful and glamorous and proper and sensual all at once. You become feline, you become fantasy, model or moviestar. Anyone at all but "just you".

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