2003-12-22

On Saturday, I went shopping. Being separated from my family by a rather large chunk of Canada, I’d already purchased and sent off all my Christmas gifts, so I got to spend the last weekend before Christmas shopping for ME ME ME. As I browsed idly through whatever stores caught my eye, the frenzied throng of holiday shoppers swarmed the aisles about me in a collective paroxysm of state-ordered philanthropism, the reek of desperation hanging heavy in the air like cheap perfume samples in the Eatons cosmetics department. I felt downright decadent.

I even treated myself to one of my favourite consumerist pastimes: flirting with the cute indie-boy clerks at Record Runner. The record store boys totally have it made, flirting-wise. Every chick who comes up to the counter comes complete with both conversation-starter (“Don’t you just love British Sea Power?”) AND built-in screening mechanism (“Hey, that girl is hot – whoa, FIONA APPLE?? Abort! Abort!”).

Anyway, ‘twas a day well spent; and it gave me such a buzz of selfish indolence that I became only mildly suicidal at my sister’s announcement that she and Home Invader are discussing marriage. Bah – it’ll never happen. He’ll probably wander into the wrong church.