Retail Therapy: Month 1

Hi, I'm Lesleigh....
(Hi Lesleigh)

So...yeah, um....It's been about.....32 days since my last hit....
(round of applause, nods, smiles)

...the last time I hit the mall that is.

I made a decision since taking a pay cut in August to get serious about simplifying my life... and saving my money. For me, that meant cutting down my weekly...yes weekly... shopping trips. Needless to say this has been EXTREMELY difficult for me. I'm used to going 2-3 times a week, always after a rough day of teaching, a perfect pit stop before picking up my kids from school, tutoring, daycare....the perfect ME time.

Trust me. I wasn't always out SPENDING money. I DO know how to window shop, and sometimes this would more than satisfy my taste for the new. Each shopping excursion is unique and purely sensual: Stepping through the gilded doors of The Somerset Collection, I breathe in the sounds of the classical pianist playing my welcome into the skylighted atrium. My kitten heels click-clack a determined rhythm as I head towards my first acquisition of the day; the grande White Chocolate Mint Mocha. Perusing the latest racks of Tahari and MaxAzria (take an additional 65% off??? Lord help me....), sampling the latest color of MAC Dazzleglass, layering the scents of about 7 different bath and body works lotions, inhaling the smell of deliciously supple leather in ColeHaan, running my fingers across the table of cashmere plaid scarves in Burberry. This is how I would unwind each week for years, and now unfortunately, it needed to come to an end.

This first month of my self-imposed retail therapy felt like punishment, and in my mind I began to question exactly what this deliberate torture was accomplishing. 'I work hard for my money, why can't I enjoy myself every once in a while? It seems crazy to work and work and never be able to reward myself when I want to! Why should I have to sacrifice something that isn't hurting anybody, is fun, is relaxing, is therapeutic, is my "me" time', blah, blah, blah.

Well right this minute, since I'm new to this therapy thing, I don't have an answer to my tirade. I am knee-deep in having an attitude. I have fresh, open wounds, and can only say that passing the mall exit everyday on my way home from work is a struggle. I roll my eyes, smack my teeth, grumble under my breath and turn my music on full blast, as if to drown out the banter in my head. It isn't until I get home and open the Wachovia bank statement resting on my kitchen counter that I smile, and remember why, why, why.

Money in the bank.

A balance in the black.

Enough to cover bills for the month. Period.

That's all I can really say for now. And for me, that's enough. For now.

Thank you all for listening.
(applause, back patting, smiles)