Sanity or Patience: choose one.

Do you ever have one of those moments where you think, "HA! I am sane!" Then you step in dog poo with your bare feet and remember it was your idea to get the puppy...?

Friday, April 23


It's not often that I actually want to shop. For anything. I was never one of those women who relished the thought of a new wardrobe or had to freeze her credit cards in a block of ice to keep from overspending.

Don't get me wrong - I love shoes and purses, but I only buy them if I can't live without them AND they're on clearance. As for other stuff? I can almost always live without it.

Some women shop when they need a pick-me-up. It's like an anti-depressant for them. Me? I'm good with food. No need to get out of my pajamas when I can simply spoon-feed myself an entire jar of nutella or consume the occasional stick of butter dipped in sugar.

But lately... lately, I feel this pull towards the store. Any store, anywhere, that sells anything. It's weird and different and altogether exciting. I find myself surfing Amazon, e-bags, Overstock and countless other online shops (because again, I can stay in my pajamas). It doesn't stop there, though. IRL places like the Coach store call my name - I just want to go in and hug all those beautiful purses!

Another strange thing is happening with me lately, too, and I think the two may be connected. See, I'm usually a pretty laid back (or at least as laid back as a high maintenance girl can be) person. I've learned to breathe through my frustrations, vent in writing, call my friends to get things off my chest, and physically run to keep stress at bay.

Ever since Dorothy moved in, though, I've been on edge. It's mostly the gross-factor. I can handle gross in small doses, like at the park when some kid picks their nose and then wants to hold hands with my son, or if Monsoon crawls around on the floor and forgets to sanitize his hands before eating his chicken fingers, or even when the dog occasionally poops in the house.

The thing about Dorothy is, she's gross all the time, and I'm always here. I'm always thinking about where her crusty fingers have been before she rifled through that bag of pretzels (and then I end up throwing out the bag of pretzels). I'm constantly saying, "No thank you, I don't want to feel how cold your hands are" because you've just spent 40 minutes in the bathroom and not washed your hands before you came out (and then she goes ahead and swipes her nasty paws against my FACE so I can feel how cold she is in our 70 degree house).

I'm not depressed. I'm angry. And I want to shop. I think I'm an anger-shopper.


A. said...

I don't blame you hon. Dorothy does not sound like a picnic, and I would be angry too, if I were you. I am pretty sure that you might be up for sainthood for doing this. And saints anger-shop, everyone knows that.

Eva Gallant said...

Ohh...I so feel your pain. I can't imagine what life must be like with Dorothy. Shop, girl, shop!

Call Me Cate said...

How long is this arrangement in place for? You definitely need to find an outlet. If shopping works for you (and your checkbook), go for it.

Belle (from Life of a...) said...

Is a nursing home not an option for Dorothy? Nobody should have to put up with what you're putting up with. A new experience might make the old gal a little more grateful for what you're doing.