The Gucci sale is on. The FCUK sale is on. Damn. My neighbourhood salwar suit ‘designer’ store has a sale on. Just emptied out my wallet the other day, and heard the last few coins fall down with a unworthy thud on the mattress and realised I shall have to keep myself calm and collected and poised and refrain from running around shrieking in sheer despair and counting out the small change from the brat’s piggy bank.
Yes, brokedom is not nice. I realised it the other day at the mall when I actually thought long and hard about whether I really really really needed another pair of shoes, and then decided to wear out the ones I already have raising a stink in my wardrobe and emerged feeling so virtuous and halo burdened that I had to down two Disprins in quick succession to dispel the headache brought on by carrying around the weight of such exemplary virtuous behavior. And the instance recently, when the spouse and I were at a perfume store, whereelse, but at Inorbit, buying a gift for a friend, when the spouse magnamiously says pick up any that you like, and I moue in deference stating prosaically that I had more than enough cluttering up precious washbasin platform shelf at home. In days of yore, platform space would have been phtooeyed before it ever got mentioned. Carpenters would have been brought in to put in glass shelves to accommodate burgeoning collections of which some unfortunates would never see the light of usage, being placed, strategically so high, that one’s hand would never reach even if one stood on one’s toes and it doesnt really befit a grown woman to clamber onto the basin shelf inorderto douse oneself with perfume. Suffice to say, the spouse raised one telling surprised brow and left it at that.
As we left the mall, he asked me very quietly if I was feeling well.
I guess if he hadnt the horror of PDA he might have even brought himself to raise a hand to check my brow. But.
But when I open the newspapers and see Sale advertisements playing the role of the devil, switching tail, beckoning talons and all, rather in the manner of ye old David Whitbread in green shiny outfit and nice little horns on his bald head, it is all I can do to stop myself from saying, the credit card bill can take care of itself, right now I really do need another handbag with them interlocked Gs, even if I have to sell my soul in equated monthly instalments for the pleasure of carrying around my tissues, contact lens case and housekeys in it.
And can I truly say I have enough clothes? Wouldnt I be instantly blacklisted from the society of insecure femmes, seeing that I suddenly switch to the other side of them women who could go out wearing a rag that has gathered mould in their cupboards for years on end, and look content nonetheless. How would I justify the frantic chaos of the morning where teeshirts and tops are thrown on the bed in quick succession and then discarded in a heap (which awaits one to fold and keep back in upon one’s return mind you, no minions doing that for moi), finally settling on the ubiquitious one colour fits all occasions never fails recipe of black tshirt or white shirt over blue denims. How can I have even a sliver of vacant cupboard space on display? Blasphemy.
But yes. I will now make do with what I have. Even if it means I actually get down to wearing all that sits in the cupboard, wan and neglected, even those one keeps euphemistically in the hope that one would, someday, when pigs fly, fit right back into them, without the seams splitting with a dramatic tearing sound. I will finish all my perfumes before sauntering off and encountering scary perfume salesmen thrusting white strips up my nose, and blocking my exit routes from the store. I will empty out my stash of one gadzillion lipsticks before getting me a pick me up with a new one.
And them shoes and bags? Maybe, I will limit myself to a replacement when one wears out. Maybe I can rope in the mater to wear out a bag I dont particularly care for out. Maybe I can wear out shoes I dont really care for by walking around in them in the house. Maybe I can break my own rules.
But, I will try to be good. And not spend more than I need. Because, as we all know. The word enough and me dont really have even a passing aquaintanceship when it comes to shoes and bags and perfumes and lipsticks and sunglasses.
Jewellery? That I leave for you to resist.