Post Traumatic Shopping Syndrome

Hello folks, let’s chat…I’ve just learned of something called Post Traumatic Shopping Syndrome and I’m feeling quite vindicated. Turns out I’ve been suffering from post traumatic shopping my entire life; I just didn’t know what to call it.

To be clear, I enjoy browsing home accessories and Lord knows I love a book store. My aversion is limited to clothes shopping. During my growing up years, Mama the Expert Shopper graciously brought clothes home for me to try on instead of dragging me around the mall. Bless her heart. However, because God has a sense of humor, I gave birth to a female child who inherited Mama’s shopping gene. Bless my heart. My offspring developed the bizarre habit of designing an outfit in her head and then trying to find it in the stores. I kid you not. Her determination was legendary. The very memory is making me twitch.

This time of year I find it challenging to keep my Post Traumatic Shopping Syndrome from dampening my Christmas cheer. I’m really good at decking the halls and buying toys for the grands, but shopping for the grownups aggravates my symptoms.

Over the years I’ve learned to cope by eating chocolate throughout the shopping experience and stepping up my people watching. If you suffer from PTSS and decide to follow my lead, be careful; it can backfire. I recently witnessed an exchange between a couple struggling to stay in the holiday spirit without hurting each other. Man Person was so over the joy of shopping. He was ready to stick a fork in the day and call it done. Sweet Thang was determined to buy a gift for her mother. Man Person suggested perfume. Sweet Thang said they had bought her mother perfume last year and the year before that. “Perfect!” Man Person said. “It’s a tradition, now! Your mama loves tradition!”

That’s when Sweet Thang growled, tomboy honor. And then she said, “I don’t care if we shut this place down. We’re staying here until we find her a nice outfit.”

I don’t what happened after that. I’m pretty sure I had a flashback.

Hugs, Shellie