Excuse me sir, are you a shopper?

Seriously. I know I'm a desperate shopaholic but even I never quite guessed the grave severity of my debilitating mental addiction till today. Perhaps the effects must have crept up subtly - just like the folded stacks of paperbags and collections of pricetags from various stores that have started to mushroom all over my bedroom - with me barely noticing, since surely I don't haunt department stores on a daily basis like an indigent immigrant ogling the tempting goods.

Well, maybe on an alternate day basis at the most. Certainly not enough that the salespersons at British India can wave to me with obvious delight at my imminent return.

Obviously Gay Salesperson : Hey, how are you doing? We told you about the sale, right? By sms?

Golly. I was at point-non-plus for once. Even Charming Calvin was agog - whether from speechless astonishment at my undeniably spendthrift ways or my far-from-obvious infamy, I couldn't tell.

Maybe I do frequent sales once too often since I found that I easily recognized more than a few pieces of apparel - not to mention the pricetags before with their previous sales cuts. Hell, I practically have an indelible mental picture of the whole store even before I walked in. Yeah, I admit I have bought more than my share of linen and home decor from British India - and bargained part of my soul surely knowing the prices there - but then again, I don't actually live there. As you all know I live with Kinokuniya, IKEA and Metrojaya - though for some reason all three don't get along and live as far apart from each other as possible ( and I'm not counting Metrojaya's supposedly hip but sadly unendowed sister MJ ). Seriously. If they need a junior buyer, I am so there - even with minimal wages. There's such a thing as staff discount right?

Even the salesperson's intimidating - and oddly familiar - camaraderie didn't deter me from my main plan. Contemplated getting a fine linen shirt for my brother but thought better of it since somehow my stern, stolid sibling just doesn't look right in sheer see-through linen with frilly epaulettes. He's more the basic lumberjack checks and stripes.

Still, it did mark the beginning of my annual Christmas shopping. I know, I start early since I have to get the tree done all by myself - not to mention the various little seasonal decorations.

Already have the gift for my homebound bookworm dad. Two graphic novels, Pyongyang and Shenzhen by the quietly humorous Guy Delisle. Even my niece has already gotten her stuff wrapped up a week back - since I think it'd be a delight for her to have a visit from Eloise at the Plaza. Can't decide between the delectable Nigella Lawson or the lispy Jamie Oliver for my budding homemaker sister-in-law but I've already got my eye on a piece of jewellery for mom. And maybe even an additional gift of Martha Stewart's Homekeeping Handbook ( certainly a must-have for every apprentice domestic goddess ) which she's been eyeing.


Poor Calvin after a day's shopping with me...
Checked out the record store for other gifts but couldn't find anything I wanted at present - though I do have a rough idea on what to get for Charming Calvin ( who by that time was practically dead on his feet ). Saddened by their lack of a sale, the wicked store people tried to tempt me with Brandon Routh's taut virile body but when I tried to get my covetous hands on him, they told me that the DVD version isn't on sale yet. Dammit.

So I had to settle for seriously underaged meat instead ( fortunately the actors aren't jailbait though since it'd be too gross to perv over kids ). Decided to give local film industry a hand so Bernard Chauly, hope your coming-of-age drama Goodbye Boys was worth forking my money over.

You know. I really do shop a lot.