Shopping & the criminally insane

Every year, it's like this.

I really don't like to shop all that much. Especially not at the holidays. So I long ago decided the best way to make it through all the holiday bustle and crowds and anguished decisions about *what to buy* for the "impossible" people on my list was to put the carrot before the horse.

In other words, I buy stuff for myself. Things I want that no one else is going to give me. Not even if I ask for them.

These purchases are rarely extravagant because I am *technically* shopping for others and usually have my resources directed to that end.

But this year is different.

This year, I'm single. I don't have a GF and, more importantly, her entire family on my shopping list. Certain people I've shopped for over the past several years have decided to drop out of my life. Two friends -- a couple I've known for many years -- *scolded* me last year for giving them a gift because they don't like to give gifts to others. (Really, it was just one-half of the couple that did that. Not the nicer half, I would say.) What's more, I'm not having a relationship with my mother. My dad is not inclined to care what I get him. My sister thinks, rightfully so, that I'm a poor graduate student, and my brother never sends more than a $25 gift certificate, always to Amazon, so I don't really feel like I have to go out of my way to shop for him.

This leaves me with a surprisingly small list of people for whom I would actually shop. This lowers the stress level -- and expense -- dramatically.

But, as I was drawing up this little list, a thought crossed my mind: What about ME?

I'm not talking about that particular dynamic where, when one's gift-giving list is small, one is also likely to receive few gifts herself. Rather, I'm talking about that whole business where I get to buy stuff for *myself.* Where's the rationale for my annual self-indulgence?

*sigh*

Well, I got a job offer the other day -- doing on-call work at group homes for those who have formerlly been designated what you might call "criminally insane" -- and that seems to have provided me the excuse I was looking for when it came to this shopping business.

What I *really* need are a couple pairs of pants or jeans and some new flannel sheets. I could've gone and laid out some bucks on that. But it never seems like my desire to engage in shameless self-indulgence is satiated by buying something I need.

In fact, I take the most pleasure in shopping and buying -- especially as gifts for others -- things which are utterly frivolous. Something beautiful. Something sensual. Something decadent. Something you simply *do not need* but may take some delight in having anyway. It's hard for me to conceptualize just what that would be for some of the people on my list this year, but apparently, it wasn't hard for me to come up with something for myself.

That is how I came out of a store rather aptly named Shoe Shangri-la with a pair of handmade, fit-like-a-glove, can't-put-my-orthotics-in-them funky, tactilely pleasing brown leather WOMEN'S shoes. (So many of my shoes are men's shoes because of those damn orthotics, that it is actually a small miracle when I get to wear girl shoes.) These things cost a pretty penny, of course. But they're pretty and they're frivolous and I have absolutely no need for them. (A note to S2: I saw those boots you got there. Girl.... you are the queen of frivolously expensive shoes in my little world.)

It took me a while to decide which pair to buy. Because there were these cute little lace-up black ones with green leather hearts on the top of the foot, and I was *in love* with them. They just didn't fit quite right. Turns out I'm a 39 *and a half.*

Anyway, when I finally decided on the ones I wanted, the shopkeeper said to me, "Do you have to wear suits to work?"

OK. This question caught me off-guard for several reasons, all of them being related to some foreign concepts. Mainly: work and suit.

No, I said, chuckling. No suits.

"Oh, well what do you do?" she asked.

Actually, I'm about to start working with the criminally insane, I replied. (For some reason, I love using that term, even though it's probably about as inappropriate as "retards.")

Her eyes widened. She did not know what to say.

Perhaps, I added, I need some Doc Martens for that. But I won't be wearing *these* shoes. (But really, the only reason for that is because I can't put the orthotics in them and thus can't wear them under circumstances where I might be on my feet for extended hours.

In any case, the shopping (for myself, and thus, for others) has begun. Mercifully, it won't take long to finish.

I doubt I'll buy anything else for myself under the circumstances. Except, perhaps, Michel Foucault's book on "The History of Sexuality," which seems like a good thing to read in light of all the research I've been pouring over lately. Well, that and some jeans. And some flannels. And some....