Ever since I could drive myself to the mall I've been dedicated to shopping. Yes, the wondrous jingle of keys paired with a shiny new driver's license meant freedom in so very many ways. For me, the sweetest one was being free of a mother 'helping' me choose polyester ick/crud at Monkey Wards or Sears. They could be giving away free wardrobes for life in those stores and you still couldn't drag me in there. Recently I tried to go back into a Sears. I figured after so long I should be over the trauma. But it still smelled of musty plastic and DCon, just like when my mom took me there. My heart started to palpitate, my palms grew damp, and my head spun around. The rest of my body followed my head out the door. For weeks after that I'd flashback to stretchy, striped zipper-necked tops that itched my skin and broke my spirit. Noooooo! 
Anyway, ever since my release from polyester hell I've nurtured the art and thrill of the sale. The online purchase is a threefold thrill - buying, getting, and wearing. Sheer heaven. And oh! - the mall prowl where you don't know what you're hunting until you have it in your sights, then bag it and take it home. Sweet.
Sweet to the point of having to reinforce the rack system in my walk-in closet to keep it from collapsing again. Actually it's more of a 'walk-in-and-gasp' closet. Women drool and guys freak. I'm sure you can guess why:
Girlfriend: Oh, my, gawd....I LOVE this!
Boyfriend: Whut...why...how many....oh, my, god.
Recently though, I'm embarassed to say, I've lost my edge. Catalogs no longer hold a thrill for me. Online is nice and easy, but it's just not the same as it used to be. The mall is okay, but I'd rather take a nap. A nap.
Is it possible to lose the will to shop? What a horrible thing to consider. I'm hoping it's just a breather between binges, that perhaps with a little more iron or bran in my diet, the spirit will return. But who knows.
Strange but true - about the same time I lost my shopping urge, chocolate also lost its appeal. Yes, that's right, the nectar of the gods was no longer good enough for me. Please help me, Saint Hershey - I know not what I do. And I'm frightened.
In the past, when I'd swing through a phase, certain obsessions would shift and sway but not entirely disappear. For instance, during one pregnancy, all I wanted to eat was salsa and chips. I subbed salsa for chocolate, but still had the craving. When I bought a home, I subbed Home Depot for Nordstrom for a while but still kept that credit card busy. But now, no craving to shop OR snack. What the fudge?
Let me promise you this - I WILL be back. I WILL shop again. I WILL control the urge to capitalize the word 'WILL.' I do not go easily into the dark night without a fight or a coupon or a credit card.
Today I came out of the closet with my cordless drill. I had no choice. One of the shelves had collapsed and had to be fixed. Seems it couldn't hold its own against my bountiful wardrobe. This wasn't the first shelf to collapse, but it's the first I've told anyone about. I've quietly become a veritable pro handygal with a studfinder, titanium drill bit, and some rebar.
A few years ago I ran out of room in my closet, but I solved it by getting rid of my husband. That gave me a bit more space, especially once I was able to dump the body. Relax, I'm joking. I don't litter, I recycle, and I must say, the daisies have never bloomed better.
I happen to like clothes. And they like me. It's not my fault that everything I try on looks fabulous. It's a curse I've learned to live with. 
Admitting there's a problem is supposed to help you solve it. I signed up for a clothes-aholics anonymous meeting, but I couldn't go- I didn't have a thing to wear. Thanks a whole bunch, stupid self-help class.
This particular shelf was for my pajamas. My mother, bless her heart, still buys me pajamas. TMI? Then stop reading. Couldn't stop, could you? Now you know how I am with clothes. So you see this is my mom's fault of course. Do I need saucy yellow pajamas with monkeys and palm trees on them? Or a bright red bunny suit? Of course I do. Because I never know when my mother might fly in and want to see how my pajama collection is doing. So I keep them and keep them...and stack them...on a shelf....that fell. If I get rid of these pajamas, she will buy more of them for me. Trust me on this, she will.
The rest of the closet is overstuffed because I've been shopping my tail off to self-medicate my mental maternal angst. So that, too, is my mother's fault.
(This is the part in the story where all the guys roll their eyes and mutter something about women having too many clothes.)
I'll tell you what, pal, I know I have a lot of clothes, but I've recently come up with a terrific solution. Jewelry doesn't take up as much space and you can spend way more on it. Keep up the eyerolling and I'll make sure your ladyfriend picks up this new habit AND your credit card. But first I've got to figure out what type of rebar to use in my jewelry box.
