Shopping, desserts and entertainment. These are my earthly holy trinity. These are in some unexplainable reason the silly domains that nurse my worldly psychic ills. These are my lowly carnal religions.
This is why when I was given the opportunity by the heavens to see and walk through the streets of Beverly Hills, I was at an elevated sense of veneration. Though my underprivileged wallet could not afford the saintly looking fashion merchandise along Rodeo Drive and Wilshire Boulevard, it felt like I was in the peak of my materialistic pilgrimage to the western shopping mecca.
Those glitzy, ritzy and lavish stores looked like blessedly sanctified chapels. While the names Versace, Canali, Prada, Bottega Veneta and Ermenegildo Zegna seem to sound like holy Italian saints.
No, I did not do the sign of the cross but when we left the area, something in me was screaming. That one glorious day, I will be back and spend a good amount of riches in that dreamy fashionable shopping district.