Shopaholics Anonymous

Yes! I'm still alive! And I've decided that since not only have my creative muses left the building but have left no forwarding address, I'm going to give up on waiting for great writing inspiration and return to boring the masses at large with random pointless blabber. Welcome to Clew's Rubber Room.

Now ....

Have you ever discovered, to your horror, that you actually are something that you have always proudly proclaimed you are not?

I have always hated shopping. Back in junior high and high school, girls characteristically bopped off to the mall at every chance, to buy clothes and shoes and baubles and bows. I would sometimes go, but only for the social aspect. I loved hanging out with my friends – but it has never been a great interest of mine to wander through stores and flip through racks and try stuff on just for fun. Frankly, it was an annoying way to spend time for me.

I never did acquire that taste for shopping. I will wear clothes and shoes till they fall apart at the seams, simply because I hate to go shopping. And those women who salve a broken heart or a flash of anger or a bout of depression by going on a shop-a-thon? What in the world is that all about? There’s not much that’s LESS relaxing than shopping to me.

I’ve always proudly worn the anti-shopper badge. Shopping, to me, has always been bourgeoisie, not to mention immensely boring and highly irritating.

I must confess something though, as I cannot bear the weight any longer. I've recently realized ... that I am a hypocrite. I actually DO love to shop. In fact, I could see becoming addicted to it very easily. Thank God I have good self-control.

Clothes? Shoes? Handbags? No. Still no appeal for me. I’m such a non-girl in that department. But media? Media is my downfall.

I can’t tell you how much I love bookstores. I love the atmosphere, I love the smell of paper and ink and binding glue and coffee in the new bookstores and that of must and dust in the used. I love to wander aimlessly into the different sections and discover arbitrary topics of interest. I love buying and collecting books, and it’s difficult for me to get out of a bookstore for less than $50 - $100. Oh my heavens, I love bookstores.

Probably the only thing that could trump a bookstore is a scrapbook store. Sweet, sweet utopia. Paper, paper stacks, embellishments, pens, stickers, fibers, countless new things to buy and try. Idea overload as I stuff my basket full of things, and then go to get a cart because the basket is full and I’m not even out of the second aisle. I know I’ll probably never use most of the things I buy, but it doesn’t matter. I must have them.

Even more dangerous are the online stores carrying books, CD’s and scrapping supplies. Man, I can ring up bills equivalent to the national debt before I even realize I’ve put a thing in my cybercart. But there’s no feasible way I can do without these newfound items. I can never even figure out how I’ve made it this far without them. And now that you can order Creative Memories stuff right on line and have them delivered to your door? Fugedaboudit! I’m toast. And so is my checkbook.

When I look back, there was one shop in the mall that my friends had to drag me out of with a towtruck, and one store to which I’d scramble off any time I got a little extra scratch in my pocket: the record store.

I am a shopaholic after all. I can’t believe it.

*hanging head in shame*