The wish list is getting longer, and longer, and longer, and I worry that when I get up in the morning I would trip over the long skein of what I absolutely must buy the moment I get the opportunity and some spare cash, without them necessary expenses breathing down my neck.
Sports shoes. I need these. I need these so badly I could get down on my knees and cry. The current pair is an old one, bought when one tucked in a walkman (remember those?) into the belt (worn at waist level , when one had a waist), and with a cassette (remember those too?) and one could actually jog at a decent pace, without doubling up in breathlessness, or cause a mini riot occasioned by folks around collapsing in laughter at so much fat jiggling away in complete uncoordination. Right now, I need to wear them shoes to go down for a walk, which I do everyday, although I must confess that I am not as religious about it as I used to be, the results of which are apparent when I need to huff and puff and suck my tummy in if the jeans have to be worn and buttoned up. Therefore, I need to buy a new pair. One that propels me to walk faster and harder and offers dynamic propelling and built in pedometer, and starts whining from within the shoeshelf at around six pm, cmon, get off your butt, lets go for a walk. You know.
Sarees. In nice floaty frothy chiffons and crepes. In pretty light colours. And some amount of minimal blingy embroidery. The courage and the change of perspective about saree wearing comes from the experience the previous week where I actually draped me in a saree without puncturing all my fingers on safety pins, and didnt look like I’d been rolled up in it by a group of men of kidnap and kill intent, who couldnt find a carpet to do the needful. And what’s more, I might as well wear them sarees while the semblance of a waistline still exists. Therefore, the easy drapes it is, them crepes and chiffons. I’m already planning out my collection. And my friends are already waiting for me to start distributing them once I realise I’m never going to wear them.
A shoe rack. Yup. A shoe rack. Dont tell the husband but I just emptied out his shoes into the balcony to make place for mine in his shelf. While I’m at it, I really need a couple of everyday wedgeheels. Just a couple. Not more. Cross my heart swear to die. Just a couple of wedgeheels. To add to the sportshoe I must must buy or die walking in my falling apart pair. And maybe a pair of low kitten heels with nice blingy stuff to go with them blingy sarees I plan on buying. And a pair of everyday flats. Okay. Thats it. Nothing more.
A book shelf. Yup.If I get any more books on top of the cupboard, the next I open it I might just be knocked unconscious by the toppling books on missile assault mode.
The kid is wandering around in tshirts which look like he’s into tank tops and pants around his ankles. While this is all to well, given levels of heat in the city, I think kiddy wear should have been at the top of this list, but as I always whine, its no fun buying boys clothes. If I had a little girl, now that would have been me running to replenish her wardrobe before she even got a chance to get out of her old stuff. With the mandatory oohing and aahing over the ‘oh soooo cuuuuute’ in the store, to much eye rolling on the part of the spouse. Which he still does, given we donot have an infant of the female gender to warrant me padlocking myself at the infant girl section in stores.
And yes, perfume. After all that song and dance about how I never have occasion to buy perfume for myself, now I actually do. *This written throwing accusatory glances at the impervious spouse* I am at the last few sprays of the few I have left of any sprayworthiness. I need to go perfume shopping. All I actually want is to get my hands and nose on the Fendi house perfume. Simply Fendi. The last I went I could find all variants but not the original. Or Clinique Happy. I like that one too. I stick with the familiar. I’m not a woman who likes change, as the spouse is no doubt thankful for. Perfume shopping scares me. You need nerves of steel to withstand the sales guys who trail behind you waving white strips under your nose until you’ve passed out from olfactory overdose. You need to be able to stand your own ground and not get backed into a corner to buy the newest perfume on the block just because it is new and has a mega buck ad campaign to promote it.
And most of all, I need a new phone. The BB, despite the eye and the tooth I paid to have it repaired isnt the BB it used to be before it took a plunge into the bucket. Blackberry isnt making life easier by taking out full page front page ads and innovative front page strips with seductive new models swaying enticingly in front of me everymorning as I sip my morning cuppa.
I think I need to go rob a bank. Cya later.