Addicted

It makes you guilty. It makes you happy. What could it be? My prime addiction, shopping most certainly! These are the actions and emotions that transpired one windy, autumnal day.

Being the sweet, affable thing that I am, (fine this is the last time I blow my trumpet) I was busy chattering away to a friend when suddenly, something he said shocked and upset me, just by the absurdity of it. I tried. I tried talking to myself and consoling myself but in vain. I was flailing and quickly sinking into the sea of gloom. Throwing on a jacket and boots and armed with an umbrella, I rushed headlong in through the curtain that was the cold wind and exasperating rain (I’ve never liked it and never will), which acted as screen between warm, cosy quarters and more-than-equally inviting destination- the mall!

Blindly I walked into the first place my feet took me to which is of course, no prizes for guessing, a clothes store. I Know you men reading this are shaking your heads and wondering why I didn’t go to a café instead and drown my sorrows in grub and a drink. Trust me, I’m as big a food junkie as I’m a shopaholic but the balance tips a teensy bit for the latter. So.

Anyway, I march in and the primary observations I make are small signs saying “SALE” in big letters, leading right to the back of the shop. Ah bliss! A girl’s paradise. A swift shuffle through the racks brings my hands and eyes to an ecstatic halt on a cream colored, cropped jacket, with buttons running up the cuff and a floral brooch on the collar. At the bat of a mascara-ed eyelash, I was trying it on and it fit like a glove. (Thinking of it, I Need a pair of gloves for the winter. Don’t mind the other 3 pairs stashed away in my cupboard. They’re old, like, 6 months in the least. I couldn’t be caught dead in such antiques now, could I? They’re so last season!)

At any rate, the coat was perfect, a classic and an absolute steal, worth every penny of my hard- earned money. And, if you remember, I was blue.

So I whisked it to the cashier who duly appreciated me for my good taste and understanding of monetary value (alright, This is the last time I self-appreciate) and gave me possession of my new beauty. It was only when I stepped out, and into the chill evening, that my fogged up senses cleared and I got this gnawing feeling that is so typical of that emotion that everyone hates, Guilt.

One part of my brain wanted me to go back, return the lovely garment and get a refund. My heart refused. The other part of my brain, reminded me that I was “sad” and had to pamper myself by means of retail therapy. The heart agreed too. Love- one. As in all cases of shopping, the vile won over the good and I was skipping back home, especially prouder of myself when my mates ooh-ed  and aah-ed over my new addition to my already overflowing wardrobe, spoilt bratty by my shopping impulses.

As a consolation to the half of my brain, I can always earn back the dough I “invested” (because its a classic and classics should rightfully be considered investments) And I get to flaunt my beauty to everyone at the next party I’m attending as well as to The person who was the cause for this whole episode and all this text. All I want to say is, thank you. 😉