Window Shopping Perils

I like to shop as much as the next guy. By that I mean I don’t like to shop. That doesn’t mean I have anything against shopping. I understand there are those of a certain genetic persuasion who enjoy it. Quick trips, weekend binges, window...any shopping will do.

I prefer window shopping above actual shopping by a wide margin- about the width and depth of a store’s door. Window shopping means I don’t actually have to go into a store. I make an exception for food.

I often grace the doors of a grocery store, but even there I will window shop. Yes, there have been many times when I have fixed my gaze on something I desired but have overcome my impulse to buy.

That something is almost always Krispy Kreme doughnuts, chocolate iced, if you please. It is never difficult to find those lovely green and white boxes of delight. Kroger is exceptionally diabolical at placing the Kripsy Kreme table where it is impossible to avoid, and if they don’t put it in a place I’d trip over it, I’ll walk around until I trip over it.

Each time I see that table it goes much the same way. I’ll stop and study for a moment, making sure they have chocolate iced on hand. No need to get excited if they aren’t there. I might pick up a box and gaze at it, and then, with a surge of will power and discipline, put the box down and walk away. Or put it in my cart and walk away. Either way, I walk away without ripping open a box and taking a bite. Yes, I'm Mr. Discipline.

So, I can sympathize with those who window shop, like my friend who is a girl, who I'll call M. M was on a Chicago shopping binge doing so much more than mere window shopping when she walked by a window that caught her eye. There was the top she had been looking for. She stopped and gazed at this black, one shoulder top with one full, fitted sleeve as the mist started rising, the lights got brighter and the music started playing. It was love.

She knew it would never work out. He- if you can call a woman’s designer top “he”- was from a different world, a designer store, and she was a bargain hunter. So, after a moment of silent regret, she moved on.

But she couldn’t get him out of her head. She kept thinking about him, wondering just how much it would cost her to own him, how he would feel wrapped around one arm, holding her tight. After a restless night, she decided. She would go back. She would set her limit on what she was willing to give, but she would pursue her dream.

She marched down Michigan Avenue with purpose, not pausing at the designer store door, not tempted by the designer store décor, breezing straight to the designer store tops. She saw him. She touched him. She felt his silk threads. She read his price tag. She stared at him slack jawed. $1,098. She lost her appetite for him.

I understand. Sometimes the calories on the back of the Krispy Kreme box have the same effect on me. But not often.