Jim and I have been busy shopping for a new boat. We sold our sailboat in the spring, and had plans to buy a motorboat immediately. This was, umm, spring of five years ago.

 

Now, five years is not 'immediately' by most standards, but it's about par for us. It takes us awhile to warm up to buying stuff, because, truth be told, we are the runaway brides of shopping.

 

On rare occasion we do get excited about an item, but then a salesperson will ruin it by making us skittish (like asking ‘may I help you’), at which point we'll bolt from the store as though the fiends of Hell are upon us, which, in the case of some salespeople, is fairly close to the truth. We leave in such a hurry that the salesperson will sometimes look around to see if there is perhaps a fire that he had not noticed.

 

When you are runaway brides of shopping, reluctant to commit to new purchases, your possessions can sometimes grow shabby while waiting for you to replace them. Some of the more ancient bits grow weary of the very sight of you. In fact, you sicken them. They are old and worn-out, and are fairly desperate to be put out to pasture, but you can’t let go. Our living room carpet, for example, is so worn and faded that even the dog is embarrassed to walk on it, he prefers to lie on the tiled hall floor to spare himself the shame of lying on such a carpet. Our intention, an intention that has been active for almost six years, is to replace the carpet with something else, maybe hardwood flooring or bamboo or laminate or even just new carpet. That intention is sometimes so strong that it could be considered a ‘desire to make a purchase’, at which point we start thinking about going to a store and doing something about it, but as soon as that happens, we get edgy about things and head off to Starbuck's instead.

 

We spend a lot of time reviewing products online. This helps greatly in our quest to never actually buy anything, because every single item for sale in the world has a bad review SOMEwhere online, if you look hard enough. And we do.

 

Mind you, we do flirt on occasion. We enter various stores and fall in love with things, and happily dance the courtship dance, sometimes to the point of putting an item into the shopping buggy. But once we’re walking down that aisle to the cash register, we almost always get cold feet. When shopping with my daughter, I will sometimes, in a burst of enthusiasm and rubbed-off mad impulse-shoppiness, fill a buggy full of items. However by the time I get to the cashier, I will have put 99% of the stuff back. The single remaining item is usually a chocolate bar, because I can handle that kind of purchase with real aplomb. So my daughter ignores my delighted cries of ‘Look at this! Why, this is exactly what I’ve always wanted! I’m going to buy it!” when we’re shopping, because she knows that really, when it comes down to the wire, I won’t. I never know this ahead of time, but she does. She of little faith.

 

As for the boat buying, the problem is that Jim and I have a mixed marriage. He is a sailboat man, and I, the more reasonable of us, am a motorboat woman. He aches to be sailing along in total silence, no sound of an engine to disturb the idyllic peace, whereas I know that the sound of silence out on the water means that you have engine trouble and had best start rowing or calling for help. We do agree, though, that we both prefer wooden boats, until we go to see a wooden boat, at which point we become convinced that we’d be better off with fiberglass, and this conviction lasts until we’re looking at a fiberglass boat at which point we remember that wood is the only way to go. We have compelling and logical reasons for either scenario, and so we can win whatever argument will, basically, guarantee that we don’t buy any boat at all. Bottom line is, we are the worst possible people to see coming your way, if you have a boat for sale. If you knew ahead of time, you’d have a gun, and not be afraid to use it. 

 

Once in awhile a purchase actually makes it home, but that doesn’t mean it is home to stay, not by a long shot. It can always be returned, and often is. I think the returned items are pretty grateful, though, because they look around and seen what their future would be if they stayed: a life of toil taking them many years past their prime. The stuff practically jumps back into the bag in its hurry to go back to the store.

 

I have even developed a physical symptom to aid in my quest to remain relatively purchase-free: My knees start to hurt when I’m shopping. They really do. I can go for three-hour hikes, I can ride my bike for hours, but ten minutes into a store and I can barely walk. My daughter, who really REALLY enjoys shopping, is so disgusted by this that I have to wonder what people must think of her cold-heartedness when they hear the heartrending conversations. 

 

“Omigod, my knees are killing me, I can’t make it!” (we have just entered the store). 

 

“Oh yeah sure, whatever, Mum. Cry me a river, wouldya?”

 

We are a bad mix, she and I. The difference in shopping style can be demonstrated best by IKEA, a store that involves effort to even get to. Heather will go into IKEA and inspect every. single. item. in that store. Everything. Right down to the brass tacks, assuming they have them. (oh my knees!) I, on the other hand, will go directly to the one item I had in mind, put it in the buggy, and have it out again by the time we get to the check-out. 

 

I’ve long since given up trying to analyze why Jim and I are runaway brides of shopping, I just accept that we are. However, with the economy the way it is, our way could be considered a feature, not a bug. I do feel sorry for the salespeople who have to deal with us, though. Nobody likes to be stood up at the altar.