This week I went to the mall to purchase a skin care system for my face.
The mall. I went to the mall. The mall. I have to keep saying it to myself because if I do maybe the shock will wear off and I can somehow digest what I have done.
I went to the mall: the one place in the universe where I have an anxiety disorder; hives, shortness of breath, elevated heart rate – an emotional allergy if you will. Seriously, once in High School I snoozed in a coffin and found it cozy, but the mall? There the walls of my mortality close in around me. There and IKEA, the Swedes answer to the mall.
I went to the mall…to purchase a skin care system for my face.
Remember that pathetic piano playing Muppet guy who couldn’t ever seem to plunk out Mary Had a Little Lamb? Every time he would get a note wrong would bang the keyboard with his head yelling, “I’ll never get it! Never! Never!” Yeah…replace “never!” with “why?!?” and the keyboard with the steering wheel in my van and you will have an accurate picture of me in the parking lot post purchase.
I have since decided that a series of unfortunate events led me to this temporary madness:
- The magazines in the grocery checkout lane. Apparently 40 is the new 25 – 30. I could choose to believe this is because we’re finally picking up the sunscreen and putting down the cigarettes, but what if that isn’t enough?
- Jennifer Aniston. She is my age and her unnatural hotness leaves the real people looking like pug dogs. The selfish cow blew the bell curve.
- A “friend” educated me on the harmful effects of using body wash on my face. Apparently, this will cause it to dry up like a tumbleweed and blow off my skull by the time I’m 45.
So I researched skin care on the internet and picked the best one I could find at the lowest price, put on sunglasses and a stocking cap, drove my van to the “lair of greed” (it wasn’t even Christmas – the only acceptable time to darken those heavy glass doors), slapped down my greenbacks and ran out as quickly as I could feeling like I had just sold my soul in a drug deal or something (which probably would have been both financially and emotionally cheaper), all the while trying not to think of the starving babies of the world with their swollen bellies and sad, empty eyes. “Yes, this money could have fed your village for a month but sorry, I really needed anti-gravity cream and dark spot corrector.”
And we’re back to the Muppet head banging image.
This is the part of the post where I figure it all out and conclude with a mildly inspiring lesson. (Pause to ponder) Can’t really do that this time because still not sure how I feel about it. Really, ever since I have been nursing a migraine which I am translating as either my feelings of guilt or God’s judgment.
So, how about you? Are there indulgences that you treat yourself to that you fight feeling guilty over?