My Condition

How does she do it? Sophie Kinsella penned "Confessions of a Shopaholic" with me in mind, and I have never even met the woman.

It was a spontaneous purchase. I devoured the Sookie Stackhouse series in a little more than a week, and my to-read bookshelf didn't quite intrigue me as the preview of the new movie of a young woman in complete denial of her condition. As a habit (although most would disapprove) I decided to absorb the novel before watching the movie (dinner and a movie girl's night out, Jill?). I tell you, the first chapter captivated me, not necessarily for the writing (although it is very good, in my humble opinion), but because of my similarities to this girl! I am a shopaholic!!!

Sure, I would never get caught dead in a Denny and George franchise forking over the arm and leg for a scarf. The labels and price tags need not apply. My Denny and George is Target...pronounced tar-zhay if it makes you feel more sophisticated. My 200 quid is the thirty US dollars I so begrudgingly swiped off my debit card for this deep magenta long-sleeved shirt I didn't need. But, nevertheless, the theory and practice are identical!

There are many a time my spirits sink and settle into a funk, and it seems, the only way to alleviate this momentary depression is through a long leisurely bout of therapy...retail, that is. Hey, they didn't coin that expression for nothin'. There is absolutely nothing in the world that can raise me up like some shiny new gadget and the crisp sound the plastic wrapping makes when I tear it off the bad boy...or the solid snap of the tag as I pull it apart (no, I don't use scissors...too lazy) from the soft new sweater I'll definitely wear before washing since I'm way too excited to wait the time it takes for it to go through a laundry cycle...you get the picture, right? Yep, that is moi in a material nutshell.

I love new things. I love researching product reviews for them, looking for the best bargain for them, and finally experiencing that bliss of dropping it into the conveyor belt knowing with utter excitement in just a few moments it will be truly and solely MINE! Greed, greed, greed, greed, greed. It seems I am one of the seven deadly sins during my bouts of depression.

Let me interrupt this tangent firstly by attempting to redeem myself in your now-lessened opinion of me. (ha!) I have cut down. My lifestyle does not allow me the luxury of spending on a whim (although at times my dad with his hard-earned dough likes to indulge me from time to time). I have been conscious of my actions for the most part. I'm proud to say, I have wheedled and dealed with all of our service providers to nitpick and cut down on monthly bills. (Although, of course, I have only done that so I can have more spending money. So, I guess that doesn't count, does it?) But anyway, yeah, so, it's not that bad.

...And on with my never ending soliloquy...gotta love it. Anyway, I accomplish my zen through this activity...identical to Rebecca (the book's heroine)...who goes to the store to buy one thing...(in my case, a gallon of milk)...and gets distracted way too many times, and goes home with more shopping bags than originally planned with matching justifications as to why those items were necessary.

A gallon of milk. An hour later: a gallon of milk (hey, at least I didn't forget), a bag of chips, a new box of cookies, a pack of hair ties, a bundle of lip gloss(Sophie's), a couple new books, the new Real Simple, US Weekly, People, and Rachel Ray magazines, and $70 buckaroos later, I am astounded to the number of plastic shopping bags I had to carry in from the garage. But I was only going to spend $2.64!

So is my life. Anybody else share this addiction to the material world?