It's okay--Jeff knows.
It's just a series of quick, meaningless encounters: I approach him, he seduces me, and at the end I pay him. My cheeks flush and my breath catches as I push all of his buttons: Add to Cart, Proceed to Checkout, and--that sweet spot--Place Order.
Yes, I've gone back to online shopping, and it hurts so good.
I don't usually have any money, so sometimes if I'm feeling depressed I'll fill up virtual shopping carts with hundreds of dollars worth of crap and then, before I can think too much about it, close my browser window. It's like playing credit card roulette. But I recently became a hundredaire again, and I haven't bought clothes in forever, so I decided to finally pull the proverbial trigger.
It all started with some sweet, cheap summer dresses from ModCloth that I just had to have.
Jeff loves a good boob detail. Anything placed in the vicinity of my nipples can keep him entertained for hours.
Die-hard readers may recall that I already own a similar retro polka dot dress, in which I used to procrastinate at work. Hmmm. I should probably amend my Top 10 Wardrobe Staples That Are Not Made of Sweatpants.
That got me really hot so then I decided I needed motorcycle boots to offset the twee factor of the polka dots. Specifically, the exact boots I saw Cameron Diaz wearing in InStyle. I KNOW. Just as jean shorts will not transform me into Giselle Bundchen, boots will not suddenly inspire me to style my hair with Ben Stiller's sperm. (Let's hope not, anyway.)
I hope the back of that dress says "If you can read this, the bitch fell off."
Buying shoes online is risky, but that only made it more exciting. I clicked. They shipped.
They did not fit.
To make myself feel better I bought this dress:
You GUYS. It has CANDY on it. How could I not buy this? (Fun fact: When I was little I had a beloved article of clothing I dubbed "the junk food t-shirt." It had drawings of ice cream bars and hamburgers and shit--shit as in other foodstuffs, not as in cow pies, just to be clear. To this day it pains me that I did not keep this shirt for my future children.)
And speaking of fabulous t-shirts (and awkward segues), my friend Alex, who was frustrated by the Lost finale (I watched it with him and remember his anger vaguely through my half-bottle of wine haze), made a tongue-in-cheek tee that he's selling:
It's the red herring Dharma station! Get it? So nerdy, yet so right. Buy it here.
Click the shit out of it. You know you want to.