Shopaholic

The fear of flying has been replaced–if temporarily–by something else: the joy of shopping.

I don’t much like shopping. Mostly because it reminds me that I no longer wear a size 10 like I did in college, but also because I hate spending money on myself. I think there is some sort of gene that goes haywire the second you give birth. It tells you that you can buy $800 worth of jeans and sweats and jammies for the little ones, but to spend $25 on a pair of shoes for yourself is unforgivable. Then again, perhaps it was simply the way I was raised.

I’d known for awhile that I needed to get some new clothes, for work and for the conference in New Jersey. So this morning I actually managed to slip out of the house semi-unoticed by the youngest child. A.K.A. the growth that is normally attached to my hip. He wasn’t happy about it, but I told him I had to do some mommy shopping, and he went along with it. I escaped childless.

Armed with a couple of checks for birthday money and a gift certificate, I headed for the mall. Well, the bank and then the mall, with a side trip to pick up a latte. Hey, I was indulging. When I get to the mall, I head to my favorite store and, out of habit, hit the clearance rack. This time, though, I allowed myself to peruse the regular racks, too. I mean, if I’m going to buy myself a birthday present, I should get something nice, right?

At the second store–one of those big-name department stores I never let myself shop at–I scanned the regular racks, as well. And my credit card got a workout, I assure you.

Okay, I’ll confess. Everything I bought was on sale. But not everything was on ultra-ultra low clearance, like I normally buy. With the exception of the shoes. I bought shoes. At regular price.

Black Pumps
Oh, the shoes are a serious indulgence! I fell in love with them weeks ago, but was’t going to buy them. I rarely wear heels, so I won’t wear them much after the conference. But these were shoes that werecalling my name. I mean, look at them! And, even though you can’t see it too clearly in the pic, the heels are made of layers of wood. They remind me of those classy gals of the ’40s and ’50s. I love these shoes.
So now I get why shopaholics are… shopaholics. I came home, tried on all my new stuff, and felt jazzed. I’d spent way too much money, I was still not a size 10, but I was elated. Like some sort of adrenaline rush had hit. And when I put on my new 3 1/2 inch heels, even the husband got excited. He can actually kiss me without bending over and breaking his back. Maybe I’ll have to wear these things more often than I thought. You should have seen his face!

So will I shop like this on a regular basis? Heck no. But maybe, just maybe, I might indulge in a few items off the regular sale racks instead of the ultra-low-clearance racks from time to time. And I will definitely be buying more shoes!

And, for something completely different:

I feel the need to report (don’t ask me why) that I have a bruise on my foot. I have no idea how I got this bruise, but it is shaped exactly like a heart. Weird, huh?

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