Yes, it’s a medically recognized illness. Okay, so it’s not really, but it should be. And I have it.
I just LOVE picture frames. And I buy them faster than I can decide which pictures I want to put in them. I have frames sitting out on shelves or on the wall with those stupid pictures that come with them still in them. My kids have been known to come in the house and look at the frames and say, “Oh, look…there’s cousin Gertrude – I haven’t seen her in ages!” And I grudgingly laugh, you know, the “ha. ha. ha.” kinda laugh accompanied by rolling my eyes – sorta like the look they gave us when they were teenagers and we told them something important for the gazzillionth time. Know what I mean?
It’s not like I don’t have photos. I have more than I will ever get out on display, let alone scrapbook. I can just never decide which ones I want to look at over and over, so I look at the empty frame (or cousin Gertrude and her family) instead.
I just bought more (from Hobby Lobby.) I couldn’t help myself. They are so cool. And they are even worse than the the usual ones I buy, because they have multiple holes to fill. And I have no idea where I am going to put them – I’m running out of wall space. Mr. Tattered would contend I’ve been out for a long time, but I manage to scootch things closer together and make more room!
Guess I’m going to have to come up with a new “ism.” It won’t be hard. I promise.