How I long to place myself amidst your aisles of merchandisive splendor. I desire to slip my size 9 foot into the newest pair of shiny blue stillettos that grace your windows and to feel the thrill that no matter how many McDonald’s french fries I eat, shoes will always fit. I crave the euphoria that comes with realizing that Revlon has just launched an entire new line of beauteous long-lasting eyeshadows perfect for the greasy workings of a Pizza Slut, and the excitement when I see that they are buy one, get one free.
It matters not that I own roughly 4,000 books that I haven’t read, no, no. I will always feel the urge to buy more. I blame it on the scene in Beauty and the Beast when the Beast gives Belle access to his entire castle library. The point is, buying books is the equivilant of receiving an orgasm given by a long-time lover who knows exactly what makes your toes curl. It is a high that takes you at least a half hour and a nap to come down from. Alas, I can no longer use the reasoning, “A Chuck Palahniuk book. I must buy this, as I have eyes that can read.”
My anguish is cause by the fact that I have just finished figuring out exactly how many dollars I owe because of unnecessary purchases at your establishments. $13, 642 doesn’t seem like alot until you say it out loud. In my defense, at least $2,000 of that is actually moneys my ex-husband owed in my name, but I don’t want to talk about that. Also, I suppose I should have paid the Cooking Club of America when they were sending me recipes and an apron with my name embroidered on it. (Although, I am not completely satisfied with the performance of that apron, as it had not the desired response from my Rockstar when I wore it sans clothes.) Too, I owe the St. Cloud Times $25 because I signed up to receive the Sunday paper solely to do the crossword puzzles, therefore enhancing my already superior intelligence. The rest, sadly is a result of my own shopping transgressions- not recent ones, mind you, unless you consider the fact that I’ve been spending the moneys I should have been paying bills with on books. And shoes. And guitars. Oh my.
I have come to the conclusion that if I can resist the temptation of JCPenney’s new Friday and Wednesday sales, and if I take the long way around the mall to get to Target, therefore bypassing any devilish shoe stores, it will only take me ten months to pay off everything I owe to the point that I will be debt free and able to purchase my dream car, a 2012 Boss Mustang. While a completely awesome car may not compare to a closet full of shoes, it may last a bit longer than my lavender and gold Hale Bob wedges that I noticed are getting quite worn out. And it would be quite pleasant to no longer have satanic debt collectors calling me at all hours of the morning and night, posing as that mysterious Unknown person that I don’t know.
And so, my beloved shops, until January of next year, I shall feel your absence like a shotgun wound to the boob every time I get paid. But fear not; when we are again reunited, it will be sweeter than ever, as I will be debt free and armed with a plethora of re-uasable shopping bags.