My Wanton Wanting

This is not going the way I thought it would.

This little test of mine came to me on a whim while driving through Nowhere, TX after the Christmas holidays, and at the time I just envisioned a different experience.

Oh, sure, I've experienced the anticipated frustration at not buying the clothes I want.

But frustration has been shadowed by deep embarrassment, the latter of which has been the major aspect of my experience so far. And not one I've really wanted to write about.

So I've avoided my promised chronicling of this for about a month now. Okay, enough. I'm coming clean:

I can't believe I haven't needed something yet. That's it. That's the source of the silence.

I have shoes to run in. I have both jeans and dress pants for work. I have my beloved jammy pants.

Cardigans? Check.

A dress for a wedding/baby/bridal shower? Check, check, and check.

Shorts for the weekend? Check.

Holy cow, I have a lot. The opulence of my closet was never so apparent to me.

And oh, it gets worse.

A black pencil skirt? No, not "a." The correct modifier would be "some." Because I have 2. And another black mini. And then 2 more, but in leather.

A button-down shirt for work? Again, I amend--some button-down shirts for work: 3 long-sleeve, and then...oh, wow, 6 short-sleeve. I don't even want to say that out loud.

This is my embarrassment--that I have enough. I have more than enough. Not even planning for this silly venture into the limits of my self-control, I already had enough.

Three pairs of blue shoes. Yeah, it's my signature color, but really? Three? Not necessary, Shannon.

So I ask myself: how can I still want to go shopping? Why on earth do I see ads for Victoria's Secret swimsuits and still want another one? Why does watching Coco Before Chanel make me long for some gauzy, new summer clothes? Why do I moan a little when I look at the dresses in Anthropologie?

I guess it's my conditioning. I've let myself shop and buy what I want for a long time now, and my lack of need now just screams out how unchecked I went.

I've been humbled. I'm still feeling it, and it'll surely continue.

Yet I'm equally as sure I'll still go into Nine West and drool a little on their sandals display.

I apologize to the world in general, to Karma, to those who don't have enough, to whomever I ought to to make this right. I acknowledge that it sucks that many people in the world long for just one pair of shoes, while right now I'm longing for just one more.

But I also know that this hasn't hit me so hard that I plan to give away all my stuff & take up in a hut with just a pillowcase for clothes. Why? Am I a weenie? Probably. Do I look bad in pillowcases? Quite likely. So it's just delivered enough of a blow to shut me up for a few weeks.

Well, no longer. I'm going to bluntly put it out there--all my selfish feelings, my consumer impulses, and my confused feelings of guilt.

Starting with this: if I come across the field of sunflowers made for lounging in that gorgeous white dress at Anthropologie, there's going to be some serious self-control necessary. I know I have a closet full of clothes, but I've clearly spelled out the wanton purchasing shame of my past life. And I will say that in my fantasies--also full of yachts and Ritz-Carltons and perfect hair days--that dress and I have a date with a lazy, sunny afternoon. And cute sandals.