Recently I got it in my head that I needed a Tiffany key necklace. And, as my husband Joe knows all too well (and deigns to point out on a regular basis, at least too regular for my taste), once I get an idea in my head, I just really need to go through with it. Unfortunately, like Holly Golightly, about the only thing I could afford at Tiffany's is that stupid sterling silver telephone dialer. Sigh. But, oh, how I love those nonsensical keys. Tiffany's could coat a tampon in platinum, call it kitschy and cute, and I would probably wear it around my neck. (On the 25-inch matching platinum chain, please).
So, on a recent anniversary trip to Door County, my aforementioned darling husband bought me a similar bauble, albeit not of the Tiffany variety. I found a charmingly rusted old skeleton key in a bead shop run by some hippy-dippy chick in a Mia Farrow haircut, leather choker and la-la land. Mia put the key on a thin leather strand, added some particularly special sterling bead (it's from Tibet? I have no idea) and, voila, I have my dream necklace, or a semblance of it. Check it out – I'm partial to the mystery engravings on the back. Holly would be proud. Maybe I can start calling Joe “Fred”.
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