In the past you shopped till you dropped. Now you engage in retail therapy. Before you were the guy who defaced public walls with graffiti, now you are a celebrated artist. In the past you ran around deflating car tyres, now you are a socially-conscious environmentalist who wants to make our planet safe for cycling. Progress is merely another name for self-indulgence (but with fewer syllables).
And yet, if it makes you more relaxed, easier to live with and a beacon of cheer and good humour, then why not (and I am talking here of retail therapy, not the other things)?
There is nothing more depressing than a grouch who spreads bad feeling all around because he or she has not had their retail fix recently or has been wearing the same shoes for nearly a week and realises it is time for a change. Friends and neighbours should probably start up a collection and point such a person towards the nearest shopping mall in the interests of peace.
It doesn't take great imagination to buy food or medicine or insurance. But what creativity does it take to buy that pen that writes in outer space?
What separates us human beings from lesser animals is our ability to spend a fortune on things that we don't need. That pair of scissors that looks so good, is probably ceramic and can be placed on your sideboard? Ah! That will certainly be the neighbours' envy. But cut anything? No. How can you expect something to be both beautiful and effective? That is unfair. You don't expect it of movie stars, why should you expect it of ceramic scissors that don't move one arm let alone two.
Who knows what adventures lie ahead of the impulsive shopper? Remember the young Mr Jack whose mother sent him out to sell a cow for money and he returned with some beans instead? The marketing manager of the bean company who sold it to him promised they had magical qualities. It didn't impress Mr Jack's mother, who threw them out of the window, and sent the young man to bed without any supper.
As often happens, of course, the beans sprouted, a huge beanstalk grew up into the sky and Jack was able to systematically steal gold from the ogre who lived there. I think he also stole from him the goose that laid golden eggs, so he wouldn't have to commute so far everyday to make his money.
In the end, everybody lived happily ever after, apart from the ogre of course, but that's not the point of my story.
It is all about being adventurous, buying things you don't want and then throwing them out of your window.
