New York Interlude: admission

If I never left Madison, I would spend no money on clothes. The town does not require updating a wardrobe (the slogan t-shirt from ten years ago still works today; the walking shoes look pretty much the same). Moreover, I hate the malls and the one or two stores on State Street that could tempt me are not on my daily path. No see, no buy.

Damn this city of many stores! New York is another matter altogether. You come here, you spend money, even money that you don’t have. One swipe of the plastic and you are four sacks of clothes richer and that much closer to entering credit card debt forever.

It’s in the walking, I know it is. You have to pass stores to get places. Stores with wonderful sales. Stores that have your size in everything. Stores that remind you what fun it is to put on a bright neon green skirt and set it off with a hot salmon shirt. Stores that tell you that there is a reason why you tend to your appearance (in Madison, I often wonder – why bother?). Devilishly self-indulgent places where you can focus on yourself: I am being good to me me me! I am layering protective armor that’ll keep me from tumbling into an abyss of despair!

And there’s the “this’ll be the last chance” bothersome thought. Man, I am retreating into a Neanderthal shopping cave, where I wont be buying much of anything. I better attend to my wardrobe now, because there may be no shopping tomorrow. Never mind that I wont even be in Madison a full week before I am out again, tempting myself even more.

I know. Many have walked this path of addictive buying before me. It is evil. It is vain. It is fantastic!

Ah, what the hell: I need the pick-me-up. I need the full blue skirt and the coffee pants and of course the neon green thing because everyone has something in neon green this season. I tell myself that I am a deserving professional woman (even though my acquisitions seem almost anti-professional) and that I buy everything on sale anyway.

Life is all about adornments and tragedy. Not that the former obliterates the latter but I can sure as hell deal with tragedy much better if I'm wearing the shoes with the yellow ribbon and a full skirt hugging the hips, with a cool little T just reaching the beltline.