Compulsive, impulsive - I’m a little bit of both. The latter especially as of late.
I blame my new apartamento. You see, I didn’t want to go out and get supplies and decorations upon decorations when I moved into my rabbit hutch. But I’m just beside myself and overcome with excitement over my new mansion (chicken coop shall we call it?) that I’ve shopped, shopped, shopped - and boy has my checking account dropped (dropped, dropped).
I suppose I’ve always been impulsive. It’s kind of like having a split personality - I’ll be in a store and my Miss Moneybags persona takes over, all reassuring and calm and confident. Of COURSE you can buy that and oh! That’s cute, you better get it now before it’s gone! Whatever it’s such a bargain!
I blackout and I buy. And then I regret.
I blame Bloomingdale’s for escalating and encouraging my impulsive behavior (my fabulous, glamorous former co, Miss Samantha Chu, has a fabulous blog - how I miss her!)
I was surrounded by clothes, clothes, clothes all day long - can you really blame me for not walking out of my shift with purchases in hand? Working there taught me to take shopping lightly. To snatch things up before someone else did.
Miss Moneybags was a semi-OK persona when I was at Blooms - unfortunately for Miss Parry, though, her bad habits endure to this day. In a more expensive city. Where discounts don’t apply.
My impulsiveness, like nausea, comes in waves. Every few months I’ll crack the proverbial whip and put myself on mandatory retail probation. If I don’t pass below Houston, the shops in SoHo cannot collect my Monopoly money. If I avoid sample sales, my wallet can puff back up a bit (a very slight bit).
No manis, no pedis, no waxing, no threading - I try my darndest to suck it up and invoke my inner D.I.Y.onista.I was on one such self-mandated probation until mid-April when I upped and moved. Then the itty bitty shopping bug bit me - and apparently it’s still biting and sucking and draining bill after bloody bill from my bank account.
I don’t know how to reason with myself. I can’t argue both sides. It’s like sense of urgency tinged with anxiety takes hold and consumes me. I’m all tunnel-vision all the time - if I see something I like (within reason, obvi!), I simply have to have it. There is no thinking it over, no rationalizing that I already have four navy blue skirts (do I really need another??), or that because something is only $5 that means I must buy it. And absolutely not, not ever, ever are there thoughts of saving for the future (do people actually do that?)
Alas, I think it’s a good sign that I recognize my impulsivity - that’s the first step, I do believe. And I am happy to report that I can no longer blame myself for my ne’er-do-well-ness.
You see, this horrific trait-o-mine was not something I learned - like my ABCs or how to ride a bike - oh no. It was something innate, something I inherited from my mother and my father, an imprint on my DNA if you will.
Father-Mother-Daughter all share this same Obsessive Impulsive Disorder gene. (My brother I must exclude - he actually takes time and thinks through his purchases...that’s why he’s going to be a millionaire and I’m going to be a poor little pauper begging him for money all the time.)
I didn’t really put two and two together until a few weeks ago. My mom was in the market for a new chair for the living room and found one she thought she liked. She stared and sat and talked to the saleswoman and then she bought it. Only when the chair was in our house did she ask what the return policy was (there wasn’t one). Cue Anthony Marentino, “HATES IT!”
Oh and then there was the time my dad decided to get a bulldozer. I mean a boat. I mean an RV.
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Let’s see. There was the shower curtain I just had to have on target.com (even though I knew I would be going to an actual Target Store within the week). I got it, liked it, went to the real store and loved a different one they had. Fail!
There was the TV stand I just had to have before I moved in and knew what my space would be like. Not enough room. Fail!
Then there’s the million little holes in my freshly painted walls from impulsive picture frame hanging placements gone awry - fail! (Still a work in progress - need to get me some plaster to fill dem holes!)I have so many shirts, dresses, pants, necklaces, earrings, rings, shoes, bags - all purchased in Monopoly-money-blackout-moments, all never worn.
What’s a girl to do, though? Never shop again?
Don’t make me laugh. I just think they need to invent a pill for OID.