The buzzword that brings delicious thrills. Delicious thrills of FEAR.
I am not an ardent shopper or, unfortunately, even a skilled shopper.
If I had a dollar for every time I’ve left a store before I’ve even made it past the first dress, I’d be rich enough to do something other than shop.
I’d like to attribute my bargain shoes, cute-yet-cheap accessories, beautiful and comfy clothes to my own brilliance. My tenacity. My endurance. My no nonsense “I sniff a sale” eyesight (coz this is something you smell with your eyes, peeps). To say that I have an all-round “happy to be laden with every size, color and weight shopping bag” shop-a-lot-a-personality-a.
But I can’t. It’s just not me. (No really – those awesome bargains and cute accessories were not my own finds. Ever.)
Actually, most of my buys are because one or both of my shopaholic sisters has mercilessly spent hours rifling through racks, waltzing from shop to shop to Chopin, and loudly and honestly telling me their opinion of my piffling grey button-down cardigan. They’re out to shop well, and they make darn well sure I shop!
“Shop till you drop” takes on a new meaning – the literal kind.
But shopping can be fun! Look, I’ll even say it out loud: __________________!
I mean, why wouldn’t I want to breeze through at least 20 different stores on aching feet? Or hang onto bulging bags of bargains that cut off my arm circulation? Or tirelessly try on 50 different outfits so that I don’t miss the ONE that fits and feels and looks and is… yeah…. Or troll through racks and racks of colour and texture and shape and size and bling and sing – oh wait, singing is reserved for my Mom and brother waltzing down the grocery aisle…
Anyway, you get the idea. I do like shopping. But my attention span only lasts about 15 minutes. After that, I need to find a snack. Or a book. Or a good bit of ceiling to reflect on.
But, if you too prefer to shop in small doses (like, once a year doses) do not fear the day when it comes – take heart!
So why do I shop?
Well, according to my youngest sister, even a non-shopaholic like me does indeed serve a vital purpose.
“You,” she patiently informed me, “are our sober driver.”