I read the “Confessions of a Shopaholic” by Sophie Kinsella and I had tears streaming down my eyes. For once, here was someone who knew exactly how it felt to be a shopaholic. The adrenaline rush of buying that gleamy Coach Handbag and Hermes scarf and walking down the road head lead high as the latest edition Tissot watch shone on my wrist and that shimmering limited edition dress from Manish Malhotra accentuated my figure. Oh the love of shopping. The best antidote for a depressing day and the most wonderful way to multiply your joy by splurging your big fat bonus.
Mumma tells me when I was a little girl I used to insist on a new water bottle and the fancy pencil caps daily. I found out innovative ways of asking her to buy me just one more.I grew up and my longing for all things new and shiny grew. As I was a studious kid, I got through the best colleges and landed up a plum job.
I love my job but what I love the most is the ability to use that Amex generously to pamper myself. With the advent of online shopping and these crazy EORS (End of Reason sale) that they keep having to entice shopaholics like me, what do you expect me to do? You should be proud that I am saving so much by buying a Guess watch at 60% discount. Call it smart shopping.
My wardrobe and shoe rack are overflowing with clothes, shoes, handbags and accessories but hey I prefer a overfull house anyway than an empty one. I can imagine my great grandchildren sifting through my stuff and admiring my fine taste.
But heck, here I am lying in my coffin suddenly one day. Who had thought a 80% discount on Prada would get me so excited that I end up with a heart attack which proves fatal.
I watch my husband and kids as they go through my stuff. They can’t see me. “Be careful that’s antique” I yell but they can’t hear me. I can see their tear stricken faces but hang on whats that. Looks like they are a bit upset, maybe angry, oh no they are really angry. I can see my hubby’s nostrils flared up and Tom my cherubic boy, his cheeks have turned red and he squints his eyes. “This is madness. What the hell are we going to do with all her stuff? Whoever buys so many things.”
“Lets burn down the stuff” I couldn’t believe my daughter Jeanie spewing such venom. My most precious belongings, reduced to ashes.
They decided to take a break and then decide what to do with my stuff.
I looked with tearful eyes. These were not just the possessions of a shopaholic, but there were so many memories associated with them. The first formal coat from Annabelle which I had worn to my first job interview. That little back dress I wore when John and I went on our first date and my first Luis Vuitton handbag which I had gifted myself when I got promoted. But they wouldn’t know, they wouldn’t care.
I shed tears and walked away.
The next day when I visited my room I was shocked to see it empty. Where was my stuff? Did they burn it down? I saw someone pick up a box and shove it in a truck and I curiously followed.
The truck took a detour and moved towards the famous Amnesty Hall. I peered inside and my eyes popped out in awe. There was a fashion show going on. There was my son, so tall and handsome as he strutted around in my white Chanel gown, clutching my Miu Miu tote and the stilettos from Gucci. He looked so handsome. And behind him were a bunch of young men, all wearing my clothes and accessories proudly walking the ramp.
I saw a board displayed behind which said “Gender Fluidity- lets get rid of the labels”
(Image source https://www.yahoo.com)
I looked on proudly, my hoarding over the years had me a bit worried at times as I do confess that I bought one too many but look at this! Isn’t this truly amazing? My clothes worn by young boys as they break stereotypes and embrace gender neutral fashion. I have just started a new revolution. This is the the best moment if my life (oops I should say after life)
I am participating in the Bar-a-thon Edition 3 and the prompt for today is “One too many”
(Featured image source-http://www.newsweek.com)