Pretty Cute

I don't mean to be controversial but I suspect that most women have a 'cute' gene. They tend like things that are cute, pretty, decorative, pleasing, comforting, and colour co-ordinated. I know nothing about genetics so it's all speculation and observation. When I go to Hobby Lobby there are not a lot of men in there, unless they are dragging along patiently behind their wives waiting to get over to Home Depot and check out some nail guns. Hobby Lobby is one of those overwhelming places, like Wal-Mart, that has so much 'stuff' everywhere the brain cannot absorb it for too long a period or a fugue state may occur. It caters to the craft-obsessed like MacDonalds caters to high schoolers on a 30 minute lunch break. If possible, I frequent Michael's, which is not quite so warehouse-full-of-craptacular-supplies in its ambience. I also keep my cute gene fairly manageable. I am only there for photo pages, art supplies, and yarn. Everything else is a graveyard for kitsch to me. I am not tempted by knick-knacks, pom pom pillows, seasonal glitz, and cute animal posters. And to really keep me in line I need my daughter there to be ironic and mock-horrified. She, too, is there to buy art supplies, and as her cute gene is pretty non-existent, she will merely give me a fierce conspiratorial glance to indicate that the woman in line in front of us has a cart full of blazing pink ribbon, hot pink feathers, polka dotted paper, and zebra striped fabric. We are not sure if she is making some sort of centerpiece or a pole dancing outfit. Because there is a disorder that occurs when someone is born with too many cute genes, and it can become frightening. It can manifest in a scrapbooking obsession that turns a simple photograph of a baby into a glue-gunned, eye-popping, sparkle-fested page that weighs five pounds and turns the child into a mere background feature. Or it can turn into a house full of doilies and ruffles and figurines and silk flowers.
I keep my own cuteness needs contained to the internet, for the most part. I can visit Cuteoverload.com to see my share of adorable animals. I can save pretty pictures in my Pinterest files, and pass on sweet images on e-mail or Facebook. I've become plainer and more practical as I've gotten older. I don't collect things anymore, no matter how much their cuteness lures me. No more figurines, or dolls from every land, or a little fuzzy Snoopy holding a box of chocolates. And when it comes to art well, that's when the battle begins. My tendency to like the pretty, the nice, and the pleasing, does battle with the inner artistic snob that is telling me I am not serious enough, that true beauty is often the enemy of the pretty. Beauty can be stunning and alarming and soul-stirring, and I may have to keep forging through the cuteness to get there.