I'm not at all ashamed to say that a little bit of retail therapy goes a long way with me. It used to be that I'd need A LOT of retail therapy in order to get that tingly 'it's all going to be okay' feeling back. Now, it's more along the lines of "Wow, I found this pack of pens for $2 - I feel great!" I've come a long way. I blame it on living with a man who's on a budget most of the time. I'm not complaining.
With that being said, I know of some people who head straight for the clothes. While I am a HUGE clothes horse, I don't gravitate that direction so often anymore. I think it's mostly because I live in constant fear that my clothes aren't going to fit after a few months anyway. Although, lately, that's not been issue since I've been on the Arizona mesa of all plateaus. That's another tangent for another day, I'm afraid. Lately, clothes have not been my go-to retail therapy MO. Shoes haven't been either. Make-up? Not so much.
You're probably asking yourself what else there could possible be after I've removed all of the usual suspects from the list. Well, here it is. My feel better indulgence in the retail arena has become...
I'm not even kidding. How could I make this stuff up? It begs you to ask yourself why anyone would gravitate toward cookbooks as a way to feel better about life. Especially a life that has, as of late, been almost devoid of vacation time due to unexpected incidents at work and now involves a canceled road trip with my girlfriends due to a necessary weekend's worth of bringing work home with me/going into the office. What makes me think that cooking - or even finding the time to cook! - is going to be ideal?
The answer is I don't know. I also don't care. The bottom line is that I felt oodles better yesterday after I stepped into the local bookstore and sat down with Giada. I oohed and ahhed for almost 30 minutes before I walked to the counter and bought myself a $32.50 cookbook detailing everyday pastas.
The $2.99 markdown of "Yummy Potatoes" was just a bonus buy on the way out. What girl doesn't need to know 65 ways to cook potatoes that involve heavy cream, cheese and an inch-deep swimming puddle of butter?
So, I'm adding another two cookbooks to my already dangerously out of control cookbook shelf in my already lacking counter space kitchen. I think I might be an addict. I might need to stop referring to it as retail therapy all together. I might just want to call it cookbook therapy. It'd be so much more to the point.
I may need help.