If one can define an online shopping problem as regularly getting packages from deal sites and not having any real clue what's inside, then I may have needed a meeting. Or four. I could acknowledge it was time to slow down on buying cute little cocktail dresses and deliciously high heels, particularly since I walk into work every morning (in my dining room) and kick off my shoes and unzip my cocktail dress. Life online (and later, carpooling or at the playground or slaving over a half-empty coffee pot) just doesn't require more than twelve fancy dresses and 125 pairs of shoes fit for a whore. It was time to do something.
And then I booked a trip -- one I am thinking of as an amazing adventure for a single mama and her exctied boy that will possibly cost as much as Lil E's future student loans. The one-two hits of airfare and hotel made me wonder how many flights to tropical islands I have in as-yet unworn online purchases. The final punch came in a brown box delivered by the nice UPS guy in knee highs who always has a smile and sweaty upper lip.
What was in it? I had no idea.
Sadly, it wasn't a last little treasure. It was an orange eyelet sundress that makes my body look like my granny's davenport. I called a ban on buying, right then and there and for two months or more until our vacation has come and gone, any clothes or shoes for myself.
I stopped opening the deal emails. I stopped even entertaining the idea of friends and families sales. I just stopped.
Honestly, the withdrawal hasn't been that bad. I have a packed-full closet and shoes tucked into every corner of my room. While the idea of "shopping my closet" makes me shudder, I can deal with pulling out tops and wedge sandals and formal gowns I haven't worn in a while and enjoying them all over again. Or at least just seeing what they look like with a different belt or while I'm ordering a latte (pa-dow!).
I don't know exactly how much I've saved, haven't tallied the figures quite yet. I'm not completely cured or anything crazy like that. But I feel better and I'm not scrounging for hangers.
Just in case the message hadn't yet hit home, just in case I was beginning to slip, I decided to finally pack up the orange couch dress and send it back today. When I clicked on the shopping site that has been like the sketch guy always hanging out on the corner by the 7-11, I saw that my time for returning it was up. And so I am stuck with the dress.
If you see me at BlogHer or walking island beaches in the next few months, you might not realize my outfit's recycled. But you won't miss me at all. I'll be the one slipcovered in orange eyelet.