“It takes about ten years to get used to how old you are.” ~Quoted by Raymond A. Michel in The Leaf
In a momentary lapse of sanity and judgment and forgetfulness that I still had not started contributing to my 401K* and therefore might end up both alone and broke in about 40 years; I bought a Kate Spade bag in a sample sale.
While men may not give two shits about Kate Spade, unless say she started making beer, women know who she is. And women dress and accessorize for other women**. Which is something that I have no problem admitting: I could care less about what some guy thinks of my multi-purpose black leather Coach bag, but women can judge, so judge they will.
So, I bought the bag, but prior to buying the bag, I had to call Peg to get her advice. A $70 Kate Spade bag is ridiculously cheap and it was an investment of sorts. It’s a good and functional spring/summer bag that would be considerably nicer than the aforementioned black leather bag. It’s also cute and charming and screams “Hello world, Summer is here.”
Given that Peg regularly ignores my calls, when she finally phoned back, the bag had been purchased via check card because Credit cards are the product of the Devil and an evil capitalist society.
I told her the reason for my very important call and she asked whether or not I had seen the piece on the Today Show or some such shit and I said no. “Well today’s younger generation are too molly coddled by their parents. Why do you need my permission to purchase something? You all are too needy…” Blah blah blah, you get the point. Us Gen Yers (or whatever the hell we’re referred to now. I once heard ‘spoiled’) are too dependent on our parents.
My response to this was two fold. First, sophomore year, there was an incident involving a Platinum card and several shopping trips to Lucky Brand because new jeans are an emergency. Come to find out that new jeans are only an emergency if the ones you are currently wearing are packed with explosives and/or are currently on fire. Anyway, since that incident I’ve been cautious with how I spend. Two, and within that same vein, I just like to have my mother’s opinion sometimes. Is that wrong? I like the reassurance that something is an actual investment as opposed to frivolous spending. This is a woman who once yelled at me for not having a perfect coif and not having my eyebrows perfectly arched, because those are apparently necessities; even if one's daughter cannot afford such necessities.
Ok, that may not have been the greatest example ever in life, but you get it. I ask because I MUST KNOW, because I’m unsure sometimes and I just want my mother to say “Hey, it’s ok to spend on yourself. Especially since you spend much of your time being puked and pooped on by children that aren’t yours. It’s ok to spend $70 on a bag”
I need affirmation on things. I need to know what’s ok and what is not. I need to know whether or not I’m writing well, if I’m doing a good job or if I should just stop asking. I need to know that it’s perfectly acceptable to spend my own damn money, however I choose because it’s MINE. ALLL MINE.
The other reason I ask my parents if it’s ok to do things? Because I’m just a wee bit afraid of letting go. I like having that safety net there and relying on someone who is a bonafide responsible adult – with like a mortgage and shit – to help me, even when it comes to the little things.
Of course one day, I’ll stop, but for now it makes me feel better. Is that so wrong?
*before I get emails and comments about how irresponsible that is, I did it today so everyone calm down.
**this leads to further discussion as to why someone on the metro stared me down, when she saw my bag from a ridiculously over priced shoe store as if to say “why would YOU be buying shoes from there?!” And yes, I am so over this. Or not.