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Well. I went crazy at Anthropologie last night. Cah-RAZ-y.

Like a good girl, after the Target blackout I realized I needed to go on a serious diet– a shopping diet. I went into absolute denial that certain stores even existed. I went the long way around rather than drive through the major open air mall that thrives right behind my apartment. I made it a point to look at my bank account and budget from all kinds of different angles to remind myself of the progress I’d made.

But then last night happened. I had an after-hours phone conference that I chose to carry out on the patio of Panera (now that I’m a bigshot full-time web editor, you know)… which just so happens to be in the middle of the aforementioned shopping oasis. After I was done with the meeting I decided to stop in Anthropologie– just for a peek, just for accessories. Maybe a pair of earrings, a bangle. Just a shiny little something to put some pep in my step and some pop in my wardrobe. This is like opening a can of Pringles or a pack of Thin Mints to “just have a taste.” Diet 101: DON’T GO THERE.

Oh, but I did. I totally went there.

After fingering the accessory table and noting how ridiculously priced everything was (no surprise there), I figured I might as well see if I could find a top in the Anthropologie Sale Room (What’s that? Did I hear angels sing?) for the same amount of money. And then once I walked into the sale room, I migrated straight towards a dress that used to be entirely out of my price range but now at 50% off was almost feasible. And then as I grabbed my dress and headed towards the dressing room I had to walk right past this amazing silk confection (grabbed it) and then I figured a little shrug for all these new dresses was basically a necessity (found one). And then I picked up a few things here and there “just to see” how they looked on me. What began as quick perusal of jewelry turned into my lumbering into the dressing room under the weight of practically every item in the store. Okay, not quite… but yeah, basically.

I decided that any portion I could pay off with cash was as good as money never spent (if you don’t eat anything all day, the cheese dip and margaritas totally don’t count), split the rest between my credit and debit card, and then floated out the door with my bundle o’ goods. All the little girl giggles and jumping around in circles that I did when I got home and tried on my purchases quieted the little schoolmarm Josie sitting on my shoulder and shaking her finger at me (damn that Nancy No Fun).

So do you know what I’ve discovered? Shopping anorexia = shopping BINGE. Nearly always. And when I say “nearly always,” I really mean “always always.” My blog archives tell me that I may be prone to such wonderfully catastrophic lapses in judgment approximately once every other month — which is horrible for the health of my bank account (potentially even deadly) but gah, it makes my closet look fabulous.

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