I love giving gifts. I love finding something in a store that screams out to me and is perfect for someone I know and love. I love wrapping it all nice and I love the expression on the recipient’s face when it is in fact perfect and something he or she has always wanted. I love giving surprise gifts.
The only trouble with the holiday season is that in order to buy gifts, one must shop. And when I go shopping, I turn into what Brad likes to call The Ultimate Consumer.
I’m great at spending money and accumulating stuff. I start Christmas shopping in the summer so by the time December rolls around, I’ve half forgotten what I’ve already bought. My little sister winds up sitting there on Christmas Eve with a mound of unopened packages from me in front of all of our family long after the rest of us have all opened our gifts. We have to bring her the rest of the Christmas Duck and Pig as well as Gatorade and Power Bars for her to have enough strength to complete the task - it’s quite a sight. We never have holiday left-overs to snack on.
So I’ve been Christmas shopping alot lately and do I really need to explain the feverish high pitched screams coming from a couple of pairs of Marc Jacobs shoes over in the corner?! "We’re suede! You love suede. And we’re hot pink suede!" My heart begins to melt a little.
I can hear nothing but the plea of the orphaned shoes that need a good home. The pair next to the pink suede and lavender alligator 4 inch heals chimes in, "We’re kelly green corduroy. We have soft brown straps and cute copper details. You need us. You want us. You must have us." Now I’m totally transfixed liked a possessed zombie and I float over to the Marc Jacobs section like my clothes are made out of aluminum and the display is actually a huge high-powered magnet.
My efficient conscience starts to cry out, "Kathleen, you are here to Christmas shop FOR OTHER PEOPLE. You are wasting precious time. Must not deviate from the plan," and as I get closer and closer to the Marc Jacobs display, "Error. Error. Error."
I try to break away from my hypnotic trance but those shoe salesmen know me and are all accosting me, trying to keep their wares in my line of sight. I was just in there on Monday buying a pair of gold strappy Dolce & Gabbana sandals for my sister’s Christmas gift. (If any of you tell her, I’ll kill you. You know how much I love giving surprises.) They know I can’t pass by a good deal or a hot shoe. Damn them.
A salesman named Herman sees the magnetic quality of the hot pink suede. He sees me try to walk away but getting sucked back over. So he comes over to me and grabs the display shoe out of my hand and says, "You’re a woman who knows what you want. I see you keep coming back to this pair. I’m going to get it in a size 9. I’ll be right back."
"Oh no!" I think. "I’m not here to buy shoes! I’m in a hurry! I don’t have time for this!" And so I reply, "I’m a size 7 and a half or a size 8. And can you bring me these green ones as well?" He apologized for essentially calling me Bigfoot and disappeared into the mist of the stockroom. I mean, I know I’m tall but I have deceptively small feet.
Five minutes and two pairs of new Marc Jacobs shoes later, I flee the store and decide to leave before my Christmas shopping goes even more overboard.
Today, in between different apartment showings, I cruise the internet. I visit some of my favorite places - Bluefly, Neiman’s, Saks, Barneys, Macy’s, etc. and guess what I’m currently obsessed with?
Move over coffee, here comes Manolo!