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A
few weeks ago, I think just after my first pay cheque, I went
out shopping for clothes with Debbie on a Sunday afternoon. It
had been, well, a number of years since I last shopped for clothes
for myself. My only pair of jeans had rips at the knees, I had
one pair of good trousers I didn't like, and one pair that was
rather shabby. My shirts were yellowing at the collars and somewhat
out of fashion. My Doc Martins were still working, but not always
appropriate. My jerseys were about to develop holes at the elbows
and my one jacket became just a little noticeable when worn most
every day. I do, of course, have a suit, but that's very much
for weddings, funerals, and job interviews. It was also for visits
to the bank, but since our personal banker, Jason, is about 15
years old, I feel it demeans me to dress up in my suit for him.
Besides, what trendy internet designer worth their salt wears
a suit to work anyway?
We
dropped Matthew off with my Mum and arrived in town about 2pm.
I was nervous. I'm not a clothes shopper. I never know what to
buy and it always seems vaguely frivolous to be spending time
and money on clothes. I demanded Debbie stay close to me, and
definitely not leave me to the clutches of a shop assistant who
would be way-trendy and smirk at me behind my back.
But
something happened in those two hours between 2pm and 4pm. We
worked out later we were spending money at the rate of $50 every
10 mins. I started slowly enough, three shirts and a jersey —
on sale even. But it was like a blood lust came over me. I needed
jeans, “Yes, let's buy that pair of levis”. Neither
of us knew the price until the sale assistant rang it up on the
till, and it would have been too embarrassing to turn back then.
Like a magnet I was drawn to the expensive Country Road shop across
the street. “Mmmmmm, a lovely pair of dark green trousers
… ohhhhhhhhhhh, and these shoes!” I then had bomber
jacket on my mind. Debbie had to forcibly restrain me from marching
back across the road to the first shop where they had some trendy
ones.
I
was satiated, but it's been like a forbidden drug I've tasted.
I've been looking forward to waking up in the morning and wearing
my new clothes. I've been planning what else I need to buy to
complete my wardrobe. My late Winter wardrobe that is, Spring
and Summer is a whole 'nother matter. I've managed to stave things
off by buying, well, a couple pairs of underpants, but the urge
is building up in me again. I need that bomber jacket.
I need another jersey. I need another pair of trousers.
And surely just one new pairs of shoes is at least one too few?
The
clothes shops are beckoning to me like a sweet siren. “Come
this weekend Mike,” they're saying, “come buy me …
”
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