The problem with being sat around at home all day determined to save money until I have a steady income is that I inevitably find ways to spend it. Online shopping is my weakness. I can be powering through job search sites, sending off applications and feeling quite productive when all of a sudden I will be on ASOS, have 5 items in my basket and find myself guiltily tapping in my card details at the checkout. Before I even have chance to realize what I’ve done the online shopping frenzy will be over and I’ll be sat in a daze, not even fully aware of what I’ve ordered. The fact that I’m meant to be conserving my funds is conveniently overshadowed by the excitement of next day deliveries which promise boxes full of new clothes.
I am a regular shopper at ASOS.com and a premium member of the site which means that all my orders come with free next day delivery. There is an excellent tracking system which allows me to follow the delivery-man around the map and know exactly when he will be arriving at my door. The thing is, the delivery-man is always the same man. He has visited my door countless times to the point where it has become really quite awkward. Not because of the regularity of which I see him, but because of the fact I always answer the door looking like I’m hungover/just woken up/just gone through childbirth. I see no reason to get dressed and make myself presentable unless I’m leaving the house, so this poor delivery man has seen me in all manner of pajamas, anything from tiny pink hotpants to fleecy Christmas-patterned jogging bottoms in the middle of June. He has seen me sweating with a mane of frizzy hair when I rushed to the door having just gone for a run. He’s mumbled greetings and politely averted his eyes to avoid acknowledging that my white dressing gown is absolutely filthy from fake tan stains. I don’t think the poor man has ever seen me looking even slightly presentable. In fact he probably wonders where the hell all the clothes I order go, as he certainly hasn’t witnessed me wearing any of them. His name is Brian, and I see him more than I see some of my own family.
I don’t keep all of the clothes obviously – Upon trying on there are bound to be unsuitable items that don’t fit or don’t suit me (particularly the impulse buys which I am 99% sure I can’t pull off but insist on giving a go anyway). I suppose online shopping gives me the thrill of being a big spender several times of week in the safe knowledge that I can send most of it back and check my bank obsessively until the refund goes in, reassured that my balance hasn’t taken too much of a hit. Maybe when I have a Monday to Friday Job good old delivery-man Brian will be treated to the sight of me with brushed hair and dressed in a smart suit or something. Until then he’ll just have to put up with the tattered, fraying Disney pajamas I should have thrown away 3 years ago.