His real name is MasterCard, and he lives in your wallet 364 days out of the year. Consider this post a tribute to those tiny little bouts of retail therapy that keep the wheels of capitalism -- and lots of other industries -- rolling smoothly along. I might never have realized their importance were it not for these many weeks of forced exile.
I started off strong. I read books with at least some literary merit. I did complicated word puzzles to improve my vocabulary. Despite a vicious allergy to all things numerical, I even gave Sudoku a try (hated it). Finally, I sank to blindly flipping through television channels and poring over celebrity gossip rags, which I'm not ashamed to say I loved. But at this point, I don't have the attention span for a short story or a television program...have reached the end of my endurance for puzzle games...and couldn't care less what's going on with Tom and Katie (unless she's FINALLY gotten wise and left his crazy ass -- if so, please e-mail me details ASAP). That leaves web surfing as my only outlet.
I'm a regular poster on a chat board for those of us expecting triplets. Also, you can see I love to keep up my blog with at least one new thing each week. But there's another use for the web...you can buy anything you want and have it shipped directly to your home. Let me explain why this is the equivalent of crack cocaine to those of us on bedrest.
First, there's the sheer delight of picking your purchases. Gymboree's website is particularly alluring when you have an absolutely BEAUTIFUL toddler who looks good in everything he wears. I picked a couple of cute outfits for fall and a Davy Crockett fur cap -- because what boy wouldn't love a hat with a raccoon tail on it?
Second, there's the anticipation of arrival. Ed McMahon has very little on UPS at this point in my confinement. I religiously visit the tracking websites each day and award points for those retailers whose packages arrive promptly on the allocated day. They get bonus points if the delivery occurs before lunch. Sephora, the makeup warehouse, is to be commended in this regard.
Finally, there's the joy of opening my prize. Forget that I ordered it myself. That was roughly 4 days ago, and I can't even remember what I had for breakfast. The good part about losing your mind is that it makes it a lot easier to surprise yourself.
After this point, it can go either way. Here, we find the inherent peril of online shopping. All Jack's clothes were too big, as Gymboree seems to run a smidge bigger than I remembered. Oddly, his Davy Crockett hat was too small. The tag said it went up to 5T, but apparently only for pin-headed kids. No loss, Maw Maw Linda took it all back and let him pick out what he liked instead. Enter the world's ugliest sweater -- the evil manufacturer put a dump truck on the front, so he wouldn't leave the store without it (constant repetition of TRUCK! TRUCK! at the top of his lungs pretty much sealed the deal for Linda).
On the other side of the spectrum, my Sephora order was a rousing success. Not only did they deliver before lunch, but before I'd even had my shower today. MAJOR bonus points. While I've only allowed myself a few other forays into the world of on-line consumerism -- a set of matching outfits for the triplets, and some books from Barnes & Noble for me -- I get a surge of adrenaline just thinking about how much fun it was to open my little mini-Christmas boxes.
Now I'm not pretending there's any deep meaning to be had here. In fact, I freely acknowledge that this is a shallow source of amusement. But that's why they call it "guilty pleasure", isn't it? Sometimes making the world a better place just means keeping a smile on your own face. Whether it got there through your noble good works for the betterment of mankind or through this really great firming cream I just got can be our little secret. Deal?
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