The lure of shopping

I love to shop. Love it. Call it vanity, call it therapy. It's what I love.

Yet I say that with a few caveats. I do not shop recklessly. And I do not feel a need to be wasteful or repetitive. I don't need 15 pair of black sandals — not when 14 will do (!) And I don't make major purchases without running them by Gary first. I do like to consult with him ... even if it is merely a courtesy. I am the decider, after all.

Shopping has changed over the last few years. Some of the changes are for the better; now that we use the VISA for everything, transactions are a lot quicker. I am stunned when I see someone writing a check at the supermarket — I catch myself wondering what is wrong with their credit. Ditto someone paying with lots of cash.

But what is up with swiping my own credit card? Can't the clerk do that for me? Makes them look lazy. Ditto the self-checkout at the grocery. Why should I be ringing up my own purchase when there are clerks paid to do that? The novelty wore off that real quick, let me tell you.

And let's just return to paper shopping bags. Those plastic things are a nuisance. It takes nearly 25 of them to get all my groceries home. Maybe it would help if the baggers wouldn't put one bottle of dishwashing liquid or one box of Eggos in a bag. They could be more efficient. And there is no need to individually wrap the bags of holiday candy. Give me a paper bag anyday; what am I to do with all those plastic ones? Yes, the occasional plastic bag to wrap a wet swimsuit in or use when walking the dog comes in handy. But I get enough from Target — where strangely enough, I don't mind them. Back to paper!

But that's grocery shopping. And I'm really more into clothes shopping. Or accessories. Or household items. Or books.

Houston has great stores. I love the Container Store. The Galleria is great — fantastic shopping, the best. The area around the Galleria is full of very elite shops. Even Willowbrook Mall is much more high-end than any local mall I've ever had — Williams Sonoma is just blocks, not hours, away. FM 1960, the main drag near here, has Costco, Ann Taylor, DSW. We've got it all.

But it isn't all about me anymore. My last big shopping trip was with my eldest. She's a true teen. I used to see things that I thought the girls might like so I'd pick them up. Well, not anymore. They are too picky, too unpredictable. When I pointed out capris I thought were cute at Macy's or Famous Barr, Daughter #1 said she didn't really care for them ... but they might be OK if they came from Hollister or Abercrombie.

She chose all her clothes at American Eagle. (I saw those prices at Abercrombie and was stunned: $59 for a tiny denim miniskirt? $49 for capri pants? I think not.) She was happy enough — found some capris that were acceptable, found a similar tiny skirt. But her choice of tops was limited to T-shirts. Sure, they're cute, but T-shirts only? Couldn't she find anything else? Her favorite was the Coke T-shirt and the one I bought for myself — a vintage looking Beatles shirt.

She can't wait to wear it. But I told her she has to wait until I wear it first.

Mostly, I am feeling my age. She and I have very different visions of style. It's OK — I don't mind letter her dress her way, giving into what's trendy. I guess what troubles me is that I actually envision myself as a little trendy. And she has put me squarely in my place.

But I know just how to make myself feel better. All I need is the VISA to buy myself some happy!