Musings of Mineral Soap

     Today I purchased new yarn, in a new color, for an afghan I am knitting. My mother (because yes, I have gone back to being a sixteen year old. Apparently) then purchased for me 1 chai and new soap AND matching scented moisturizer. These things have colored my whole day. I literally read the entire bottle of soap and am, even now, picturing tiny minerals soaking in to my skin and promising to make me healthier and more radiant.

      I am not much of a shopper. Really. I'm not. Unlike all of those people who say they don't like to shop, but appear to be wearing new shoes each time you meet them on the street. I honestly forget for much of the year that shopping is something that women often do, in the company of other women. And even when I do recollect it as a pastime and coerce (or are coerced by) a friend into whiling away a few hours in the mall I often buy very little. But for some reason this has changed this past summer. Suddenly I am seized by a desire to have new shampoo, new soap, new facial products. I am unable to pass up a shirt in this summer's "coral" color. Really, I swear I am never allowed to purchase anything in the pink family ever again. My best friend remarked, upon shopping with me at one of our favorite stores, "Wow...I think that time you actually spent as much as I did."

    Am I a shopping addict? No, surely not. I can't even imagine a world where I could possibly bankrupt myself via shopping. In my group of friends I am the frugal one, the manic savings account checker. The one who actually can afford to fix her car when things go south with my geriatric war-vet of a Toyota. So what is wrong with me? I actually thought to myself, while looking at the yarn today and wondering whether I should buy two or three skeins, that I didn't want to put it back, I didn't I didn't I didn't.  Foot stomp.

Foot stomp?

     Seriously what am I a petulant five year old denied a treat? Shameful.  But maybe I am being too hard on myself. There really was nothing to buy where I was living before, and what there was came from Wal-Mart. A hollow pleasure, knowing what I know about Wal-Mart. The most exciting thing I can remember purchasing was a blender. Which my boyfriend and I fawned over as if it was a rare and beautiful flower, sprouting from our counter.

     If this passes over without further event (and I am sure that it will, since I, hopefully, with have first and last months rent to make on an apartment in the near future) than all will be well. It's just been so long since I've had anything new, or really anything nice, actually nice not Wal-Mart nice, that the rush has gone to my head. This must be what it feels like to be a real adult.

      I better put a stop to it. I am not a real adult. Or rather, I am, but a highly underpaid one.