...and the crisp snap of a craft punch has been known to make my teeth chutter like Hannibal Lecter's on...fava beans.
The caress of freshly cut paper disks across my fingertips can occasion the fantasy of lottery winnings, free poker chips, and what I imagine it must feel like to actually kick _ss playing Monopoly.
The endless array of colors, patterns, and textures teases my eyes - too many papers, not enough time.
The smell of vintage papers and water-based adhesives takes me back to the odors of my early childhood - reading from old books, my kindergarten classroom, my grandma in the kitchen melting waxy stubs in a double boiler (to make crayons with believeable flesh tones, key to my success as a coloring book expert, don't cha know).
Well, that leaves taste - I must admit that I do not eat my craft supplies (not anymore), but I readily recall the salty weirdness of Playdough, crayons that taste like they smell, and the bland slime that is white glue isn't worth your curiosity.
Even more appealing, crafting consistently brings me peace of mind, relaxation, and a sense of personal accomplishment equivalent to receiving a "Brilliant!" from American Idol's Simon Cowell. No shiny kitchen floor can compete with that. Mr. Catnip begs to differ, but he's getting used to my stacks of paper, and, after all, you can eat off of them! Which cannot be said of my kitchen floor.