Friday, August 19, 2005
the hypnotic vortex of errors
SALE. The word is the work of the Devil. It came direct from the dictionaries of hell. At the sight of it you lose all sense of good judgement. In the process, you lose the concept of who you're with (particularly your boyfriend who ends up sitting in a couch crowded by other forgotten boyfriends). And in the end, you lose money - a lot of it. And yet you're deliriously happy at being poor.
I am a self-confessed sucker for sales. I know that they are evil, and yet I am drawn. I am particularly taken by discounts 50% and above (I'd like to think that I have some form of discipline). How about the beautifully crafted temptations of "final reduction sale", "closing out sale" or my equivalent of a sumptuous chocolate cake: "everything must go". Your brain is then literally in a debate - I must go! No, you shouldn't! But I must! No, you have more important things to do! But... But... But!!! You'd be throwing your weight back and forth as you have one foot through the store and the other planted outside. In the end, you bite the apple. And then there are the times you are flat broke or you've already gotten your fill of shopping the last weekend, thus you KNOW that you could NOT sin again... but then you still voluntarily go into the gates of another weekend sale. That's like eating the whole apple even without the snake.
It is hypnotizing. Block letters in red and white (or sometimes yellow). The pile of clothes or shoes you must rummage through. It's a challenge calling to you. It's probably the closest thing shopaholics could relate to sport. It's combat. It's competition. It's one against many. There's that glowing sense of achievement when you get the last pair of shoes and it fits you perfectly. Especially if the woman beside you is obviously dying because she didn't get it. HA! You think, you have yet to prove yourself you little padawan of the sale world! When I walked out of a sale carrying three paper bags of shoes, I felt like a warrior princess (Xena perhaps) arriving from battle carrying the heads of my opponents.
And what is a trophy if you can't show it off. Wear the new shoes at work. Wear all the new pants, shirts and accessories if not together for maximum impact (given that they all match), on an installment basis (to give the sense of number). Wear all of that with a beaming smile that just says "Come on, ask me how much I got it for". Because the price matters. No matter how much the cumulative amount it cost you, how much lower your got your individual finds for spells the difference between the crown and the complimentary sash.
It's just a four letter word. But man, it wrongs you like anything. We know it and yet... well, we all know what the consequences are like.
dezphaire strapped in @ 10:25 AM
Sometimes bored. Most of the time oddly alive. Phobic of butterflies. Creatively suppressed. Hungry for coffee and shoes. This is my subconscious talking... at times interrupted by my reality.
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