Wednesday, July 20, 2011
My name is Andrea and I'm addicted to watching QVC and HSN and some other ones whose initials I don't even know. I don't buy anything-- I just watch, which is even worse and must make me some kind of perverted, voyeuristic non-shopper.
I love how ugly the clothes are, and how inane the descriptions, and how bad the models, many of whom are quite tubby, look in the clothes. I smirk at the handbags, huge and bejeweled and in unnatural colors for leather, none of which I would be caught dead carrying. I can sit there and watch for a long time--usually late at night when I can't sleep--my mouth agape as the clock ticks down and the loquacious saleswoman warns me that there are only 300 left of a particular item in a particular size or color. I laugh at this, as if anyone would buy such crap!
I know this sounds imperious and snobby, but that's all part of my problem. It started in early childhood when my mother, who didn't drive until I was a teenager, would take me on the bus to do simple errands. "We don't belong here," she would mutter under breath as we boarded the bus and found seats away from the hoi-polloi. She was haughty, and now I'm haughty. I can't help myself, but I am trying to change. Pity me, don't hate me.