The impulsive shopaholic

A friend of mine wanted to go to a newly-opened shop which invited people to visit it just to see the array of household goods it had to offer. She asked me to go with her but I told her that I had no desperate need for anything new. I already had far too many things that had no immediate use and had no intention of increasing the collection.

‘We will only take a look. What will you lose by doing that?’ she demanded. ‘Time, precious time,’ I chimed. ‘Don’t you ever waste time?’ she shot back. ‘Of course, I do! But I like wasting it in a way that pleases me.’

‘Well, then, I’ll go by myself,’ she said, her nose in the air, adding with great emphasis, ‘and I’ll return without buying a thing!’ Her challenge made me snigger for she is an impulsive and compulsive buyer of things she doesn’t need and then she finds people to give them to.

She once gave me a square bread basket—a pretty piece, no doubt, made of good hand-woven cotton material. ‘Can it be washed?’ I asked in my practical, down-to-earth way. ‘I suppose so,’ she said doubtfully. I felt the sides. They had been stiffened with cardboard to make them stay up. ‘Won’t the cardboard get soaked through?’ I asked. ‘I guess it will,’ she admitted.  Then, as a bright idea struck her, she said, ‘You don’t have to wash it. Just use it and throw it!’

Another time, she bought handwash by the half-dozen just because of a buy-one-get-one-free scheme. Afterwards she went around distributing the largesse. Once she bought some article—I forget what— just because a teeny-weeny cup, the size of a large thimble, came with it. ‘I suppose you could use it for measuring out cough syrup,’ I suggested sarcastically.

After my flat refusal to accompany my friend on the ‘looking at’ trip, I didn’t meet her for quite a few days. When I did, I couldn’t help asking, ‘What did you splurge your money on?’ Her face acquired a sheepish look, a total give away. I waited expectantly for her to tell all.  ‘I just couldn’t resist buying a fish-shaped griddle,’ she confessed. I was nonplussed. My friend had surpassed herself this time. ‘Can’t fish be fried in an ordinary frying pan?’ I enquired, feigning innocence. ‘It can be but...’

‘Now all you require is a matching serving dish to make a perfect set!’ I said, in exasperation. She gave me such a reproachful look that I grinned. To this day,  the fish-shaped griddle lies in a big wooden box, nestling among the other fancy items that have yet to find a use.

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