When I lived in Ohio I had all the mall shopping I could desire. Only minutes from my apartment was a mall, a Target, numerous shoe stores and a Barnes and Noble with unending aisle of reading pleasure. Should I long for higher-end shopping, I just zipped up the interstate that delivered me to more malls and more shoe sections filled with delights just waiting for my credit card. One big problem was that the majority of the year, when I exited those malls I exited into the frigid Ohio weather.
Not only was I annoyed at always covering my outfits with bulky winter coats, I was also annoyed at the limitation it placed on my footwear (though for the most part, I ignored this and wore my sandals despite the chill). As much as I tried to embrace any day with a high at or above 55 degrees as warm, it just was not working. I am not sure if it was all the slip & falls on my way to class on icy days. Or maybe it was my constant debate as to whether I should drink the coffee or pour it down my pants to regain some feeling in my frozen limbs. Whatever it was, somewhere along the way I was pushed over the edge… or at least over the many bridges that lead to Key West.
My dream home on the Southernmost Island provides me with plenty of warm days and endless opportunities to show off my painted toes in my vast variety of shoes. But as always, there is a catch 22, and my Key West catch is not a Grouper (yuck, like I would catch a fish!) but the lack of shopping…mainly shoe shopping and malls. Plenty of palms trees and beach towels but not a single mall in sight.
I can tell I am starting to go through mall withdrawal when a JC Penny’s commercial starts to look good. Suddenly, everything reminds of Macy’s—from my Clinque lip-gloss to a starfish that looks suspiciously like that cute red star. My Macy’s card starts whispering through my wallet, “psst… Stephanie! What are you doing? Don’t you want to use me?”
I once believed that only Third World countries did not have a Gap… I have now amended that to Third World countries AND the Florida Keys. Seriously, I am all about uniqueness, but come on, would a rack of khaki Chinos kill us! Old Navy commercials actually start to make me laugh, which may also be a sign of a brain aneurysm. When I think about a J. Crew or heaven forbid an H&M, I get a funny flutter in my stomach and bite my lower lip.
Oh and a shoe section—a real live shoe section! One with tables of shoes nicely displayed in an artistic manner that celebrates their grace and beauty! And there are cushioned chairs with arms where happy sales clerks glide over, carrying arm loads of boxes covered with names like Betsy Johnson, Michael Kors, and Charles David. I am going to stop now before I scream out loud with the frustration of being an island shoe girl stranded (slight exaggeration, I know) on a desolate island (any place without a Steve Madden shoe store is desolate to me!).
Simply typing of this makes me long to gas up my car and start the four hour drive to the mainland and the nearest mall. Yet, during these troubling economic times and accepting the reality that money does not grow on trees or on Visa cards I have no choice but to park my butt on the sofa and detox. Quick somebody block my internet access before I start sneaking online sales from Bluefly!
By noon tomorrow I will be so strung out and craving the feel of shiny bags with cord handles that I am trying to justify a visit to the expensive boutiques down town. I will want to be weighed down with packages and stuff receipts in my purse, to have my trunk filled with new purchases and go through the joy of removing price tags as I hang up a new impractical dress that I will never wear at a Key West casual event (aka your best cut off shorts). With trembling hands I call my Dad to talk me down and bring me back to reality. I need someone who can literally go eleven months without a mall to get me through this.
After the pep talk I feel calm and am almost sure I can make it the next 12 hours with only mild shaking. They say the first 24 are the worst, right? Perhaps I could be more proactive; remove my email from my multiple shopping alerts, throw away the catalogs on the coffee table; maybe I could even start a mall widow’s support group.
Or I could dress really bad while my friend “secretly” tapes me for my nomination to What Not to Wear, and score a $5,000.00 shopping spree in New York City. Get the video camera out; I’ll find those old sweat pants!
