I am not a binge shopper. I never have been. I’ve seen what it has done to my friend “Frita’s” savings account, and I know I don’t want to live watching my bank account dwindle from four digits to two, watch it slowly creep up to three again before dropping suddenly with the purchase of a new handbag or pair of shoes that I “had to have.” I don’t “have to have” anything.
Ingrained within the female gender is the temptation to shop, and there’s nothing more tempting than walking to the mall with SALE signs plastered onto every shop window. The lure of taking 50 percent off already reduced prices has me unconsciously drifting toward the entrance. But no! I am strong. I can resist the unoriginal marketing gimmick used by every store.
But every store advertises the same promise.
I must remember Frita, and her overstuffed closet. I must remember her nearly empty savings account, and what would happen to mine if I were to indulge in such expensive behavior.
It was hard to resist the seduction of the signs the longer I spent inside one particular store. I was waiting for Frita, and I had nothing to do but look around at the clothes on the racks … and perhaps try on a few things (all on sale, of course).
The satisfaction of seeing myself in new clothes only exacerbated my egocentric tendencies, and I imagined being the envy of all my friends. I thought about the compliments I would receive and the jealous whispers behind my back.
Suddenly I was at the cash register. My debit card was out, swiped, and the receipt was signed. I didn’t understand what had happened. Maybe Frita drugged me, or maybe I’m a closeted binge shopper. I mean I could always return my new clothes….