Rainy Day Writing

Writing, Reading, Inspirations and Aspirations

How to Not Spend Money

I hate shopping. It really makes me crabby. I haven’t always felt this way. When I was young and hadn’t made several really annoying long distance moves (too much stuff!) and was into accumulating things and was skinny and looked good in clothes, I liked it.

Now I do everything I can to avoid it, short of running around barefoot, naked and starving. Yeah, I don’t even like going to the grocery store. It’s that bad. It just seems like such a hassle. You have to dress in real clothes, unless you’re okay with appearing in public in pajamas, which I think is worse because then you even have to have decent pajamas which is just more shopping pressure far as I can tell. You have to drive to the store, park without getting backed into by a senior citizen in a giant land barge of a Buick, find a cart, no not that wobbly cart, find a new cart, try to extract your shopping list in your purse while not dislodging your car keys or setting off the car alarm like an idiot, negotiate the crowded aisles with product carts blocking the way and kids dodging in and out and under people and carts and displays like they’re training for a leading role in a violent video game, not understanding of course, that it’s not real people in those games but digital images, which is a whole other post, but I digress. It’s just such a hassle.

And malls, well hell, they aren’t even safe anymore, so you feel a little jumpier than normal just approaching one… and then you park and walk in and you’re accosted by SO MUCH STUFF! You went to buy new underwear that doesn’t wedge in your butt cheeks, (unless you’re a thong wearer and then you’re doing just the opposite) and you find yourself looking at leather jackets and shoes and hand bags and fashionable clothes like you haven’t worn since you quit office work in 1995, and oh, look…a sale on flannel shirts for the old man and I wonder if he would really wear purple, pink and blue watch plaid and before you know it you forgot why you’re there and you try on some nice slacks and sweaters that look great on the hanger and look like coffee bean sacks on you and you get pissed off at yourself for eating things like cookies and bread but you sure are getting cranky and maybe you could use a little pick me up so you ditch the clothes and drive to the nearest Starbucks for  a little something and you still have to dig your old undies out of your butt crack when you exit the car because you never got new ones…IDIOT!

And shopping online, well that is a whole other hassle. There are too many choices, and no matter how specific you type in your search words, your “UL listed wet location mini pendant” brings back things like Czechloslovakian  crystal chandeliers and wagon wheel dining room fixtures (WTH?). And if you are lucky enough to find any, the “mini” pendants you do order get there and they are 9 inches wide and 14 inches high as opposed to the 4 inch wide and 8 inch high other “mini” pendants and you can’t hang them in your bathroom because you would have to push the lights aside in order to see in the mirror they are meant to flank and that leaves your hands occupied holding the lights to the side AND they aren’t even wet listed lights like you originally searched for, so you could conceivably die, but at least the old man might be able to sue the supplier and live the comfortable life of an ex pat widower in Cozumel. So all is not lost!

Which leaves me day dreaming sometimes that I’m rich enough to just hire a Personal Shopper, an Interior Designer, and a Stylist. Actually make that a whole crew of folks to shop and stylize and dress and cook and feed me the right foods and drag my ass out of bed in the  morning and throw it on the elliptical in my 3000 square foot gym. (Mine would have live bands playing peppy music every morning.)  I would be just like a little mannequin that people would pummel into perfect shape and then coif and dress and place into perfectly procured and decorated settings and exciting locations around the globe and there would be photographers and an entourage of people with me everywhere and life would be…OMG a freaking nightmare.

Well, now that we’ve gotten things into perspective, I think I’ll throw on some street clothes and head out to the Home Depot for those mini pendants I need. I love Home Depot. They even let you take  your dog inside. What a concept. Especially for people like me. Who hate to shop.But love walking the dog.


Me and Cosmo

The Author (on the right)






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