The two dirtiest words in my dictionary that start with the letter ‘S’: ‘Shopping’ and ‘Sales’.
There is nothing more eye-catching than a storefront with BIG signs spelling S-A-L-E to lure your wandering feet into the store and emerge moments later with bags stuffed full of your proud bargains. Nowadays I’ve progressed to a less physically taxing (but no less financially taxing) version of scouring the sales, where the stores virtually (pun intended) never close and welcome you 24/7 regardless of weather or time.
One saving grace of doing your impulsive sale shopping online, especially in a country where few stores offer return policies, is that you are reminded repeatedly to “confirm your order”. That’s when that tiny sliver of logic hits and you start to trim the fat off your shopping cart.
Then comes the long process of checking out your cart contents, where at any time you may feel free to edit your order, and the input of your 16-digit credit card number, your shipping address, billing address and other various information.
Impulse shopping doesn’t really seem that impulsive when you’re forced to go through that many steps just to buy that something you don’t really need and possibly only want for a short while.
I cannot count the number of times as I am in the process of keying in my credit card details and I suddenly stop short and decide to just leave the cart contents waiting for another day. Either too wait for Hubs’ stamp of approval (financial or fashion wise) or to just… wait.
If the one day I decide to really purchase the items and they are not longer available, I let out a soft sigh from the combination of relief and resignation. “It’s fated that I not have it”, I would think aloud. While Hubs wipes the sweat off his forehead, I join him and secretly rejoice at the fact that I had inadvertently fought off the shopping bug.
Nonetheless, all that said and done, this month I’ve really gone a bit overboard. I advanced part of my allowance (which I must proudly proclaim has been given a generous 30% permanent increment) and well, I’ve been spending it. Obviously.
But hey, what’s a girl to do? I can’t possibly wear white eyelet smocked tees with a bald head. Forget about the frilly chiffon dresses and DEFINITELY no satin. Not in my books anyway. It’s back to the grunge, punk and goth. Until I get my hair back to a decently feminine length, that is.
Meanwhile, I’m still on the search (and spree) for animal prints, punk/goth stuff and head wear. No Harajuku-inspired please. Too kiddy-funky. Hey, better to dress goth now than in my 30’s.