Bright and Shiny Things

My name is yt and I am a shopoholic.

I never thought I had a shopping problem.
I never had enough money to do any real shopping.

But then there came a night, at the tail end of one of those frantic days, when 10:00pm saw me rushing out to the All-Night-Mart for some essential. Like maybe clean underwear.
Or something.

I burst through the store's door then stopped, right in the middle of the aisle, ostensibly to get my bearings. But as I breathed in that store air I could feel myself relaxing. I eased into the familiar rhythm of the shopping cart waltz and my jaw unclenched, my face softened, I even began to smile.

This was my world. This was the one place where I could feel competent. I know how to do this. And that was the night when I realized I had a problem.

I always told myself I could stop. Anytime I wanted.
But I didn't want to.

It was never about acquisition. It was the kinesthetic experience. The feeling of abundance, possibility, as the rows of carefully stacked and folded merchandise tugged at my senses.
See the colors!
Feel the textures!
What could I do with this? How would I like that?

It all started innocently enough with the catalogues. The Sears Christmas catalogue when I was just a little tyke. Sometimes I would score an FAO Schwarz catalogue. Oh, happy day! Then, later, I moved into the big time. Lillian Vernon. Hammacher Schlemmer. Page after page of carefully photographed, lovingly described merchandise. Stuff!

Soon, catalogues no longer satisfied me. Oh sure, they filled my visual sense. But I needed more.
I needed The Mall.

The Mall was not just sights. It had smells. It had sounds.
They played music at The Mall.
I could touch the Stuff. Feel it, rub it. Try it on.

Plus, The Mall had something even better to feed my addiction.
The Mall had Sales.

I would prowl the racks, alert to that siren song named Clearance.
Reduced
70% Off

I still remember the really great scores. $8 sweaters, the $12 raincoat. I keep them like artifacts, trophies, in my closet. Admire something I was wearing and I would recite its provenance. Oh, I got this at Madigan's when they were going out of business. Only $3. My pants? I found on the Clearance rack at the Land's End outlet. $5.

Oh, I know it's fashionable now to dis malls. To pretend you're really too far above those base and craven urges. But haven't all those former mall-walkers just switched their obsession to Ebay?
Exercising their fingers instead of their butts?

Now, the season of the shopping marathon is closing in on us. Like others struggling with recovery I will grasp at substitutions to keep myself busy. I will manage to stay off the hard stuff for weeks. Out of the malls. Away from the marts. When my sisters plan their annual Christmas shopping excursion I will excuse myself with some other obligation. Because, like a classic dysfunctional, I shop alone. If there are no witnesses, it doesn't really count. In the meantime, every trip to the grocery store will give me a buzz. A quick fix.

My name is yt and I am a shopaholic.