Shopping High and her twisted sister

This past weekend, I was in need of some time alone and retail therapy, was a perfect excuse to get that much-needed me-time. I hit the mall with a few things in mind but was immediately distracted from the purpose-driven marching path. H&M's eye-catching pre-fall collection on display in the store's enormous windows diverted me from the plan.

After spending more time in lines for the dressing rooms and check-out than actually shopping, I headed out, past the incoming crowd of twenty-something couples and mom-and-daughter marathon shoppers. Wandering my way back to the path, I nearly passed Forever21, swinging my shopping bag and the $10 hot pink shirt I persuaded myself could be worn at work.

My paycheck having just been deposited, I had a little cash to spend (despite not having any room in my closet, but has that ever stopped anyone?) and walked through the familiar doorway. After about an hour, I purchased quite a few things that I absolutely love - a pair of pants for work and play, shorts (because my "shorts drawer" has been having difficulty closing and adding to it will surely help) and two black dress (despite my internal nagging to stop buying black).

Remembering that I had come to the mall to look at work clothes, I weaved through the crowd, arms beginning to sag beneath the weight of the shopping bags, to NY&Co. where gargantuan window signs proclaimed the HUGE sale in progress. I've become a recent re-convert, that is to say, they've designed more apparel I can envision hanging in my closet, so I quickly snapped up quite a few pieces and went straight to the fitting room, where it was confirmed that, yes, everything looks amazing on me and no, I don't need to hold back on purchasing all of it because of the sale. Adding yet another shopping bag to my proportionally too small arms (boyfriends are better suited for carrying bags), I headed home elated. This, I have named a "Shopping High."

Now that it's been a week, this high is wearing off. The fantastic, pants that are daring but look amazing, may be a little too daring until someone else confirms that they are, in fact, fantastic. The two dresses are a little too short and edgy for work, even with a blazer. The shorts, of course, have arrived at the wrong time, when all matching shirts are indisposed in the hamper.

And the stuff I got on sale? A sweater that might be a little too sparkly for any time but the holiday season. A soft green sweater that might not define my waist enough and instead turns me into a big, green lump. Or, a big. green something with lots of lumps. (The horror!) And the bright-green pair of pants that are just a tad too small, and, had I not been sitting 40 hours a week for the past two months, exercising only my fingers, forearms and wrists (which have remained perfectly slender), my thighs and hips might be just slender enough to not incur revulsion (which is the reaction I am expecting from others if I do wear them). This feeling - an unfortunate mixture of doubt and remorse - I have named "Shopper's Regret."

Similar to buyer's remorse, shopper's regret has little basis in money, but, as blows to the checking account cause deeper pangs of guilt, one may feel this additional pang in the confusing mix of feelings. Shopper's regret is the dark side of shopping high's brilliant, shining moon.

The high eclipses all the shadows you do or don't see in the dressing room mirror; shadows that would otherwise tell you, "you look like the Weasleys on Christmas" or "what happened to your waist/hips/thighs?"

I tell you this tragic story, because it's happened to all of us. Shopper's regret is a serious mental and closet infliction. But, by leaving these items in their original shopping bags, purchase receipt laying nicely on the folds, I have aids in fighting the Sweater Blob.