Confessions of a Reluctant Recessionista

the McQueen ones which were around three times the price.
    I was standing in the changing room, admiring my form and congratulating myself on my thrift, when my mobile rang. At long last! It was Dan.
    ‘Hey baby,’ I said, ‘how are you? Where are you? I want to see you.’
    ‘Hi, Cass,’ he said, his voice sounding small and far away. ‘I’m OK. I’m just … out and about, you know.’
    It didn’t sound like he was out and about. I couldn’t hear any background noise, no pub hubbub, no traffic.
    ‘Are you going home soon? Can I meet you there? Or you could come round to mine?’
    There was a long pause, so long I thought we might have been cut off.
    ‘Dan? Are you still there?’
    ‘Cassie, it’s just been a really shit day.’
    ‘I know, I know it has, it’s awful. I just want to see you.’
    Another long pause.
    ‘Cassie. I’m really sorry.’
    ‘Tomorrow then?’
    ‘No, Cassie …’ he gave a long, heartfelt sigh. ‘I can’t … do this at the moment.’
    ‘You can’t do what?’ A lump rose to my throat.
    ‘Do the whole relationship thing, you know? Things are just … really weird at the moment and I need to be on my own, focus one hundred per cent on myself, on finding a new job. You know how it is.’
    ‘No, I don’t know, Dan,’ I said, trying as hard as I could to stop the tears coming. ‘I really don’t.’
    There was a long, painful silence.
    ‘I have to go, Cassie. I’m really sorry.’
    He hung up.
    I took the 7 For All Mankind jeans off, sat down on the floor and burst into tears. Seconds later, a rail-thin sales assistant wearing crimson lipstick yanked the curtain open, revealing me, sitting cross-legged on the floor in my halter neck and purple knickers, to most of the Womenswear (Casual) section.
    ‘Is everything all right?’ she asked, plummily.
    ‘No, it bloody well isn’t,’ I sobbed, grabbing at the curtain and attempting to cover myself up with my coat.
    ‘Well … I am sorry but there are other people waitingto try things on,’ the assistant huffed. ‘So perhaps you could deal with your … problems somewhere else.’
    ‘Yes, all right,’ I sniffed. I was tempted to call her a heartless bitch, but instead I just asked, ever so politely, if she would mind closing the curtain so that I could get dressed and continue my meltdown somewhere else.
    I changed as quickly as I could, wiped my eyes and, with as much dignity as I could muster, stalked over to the till to pay for the jeans. Nervous breakdown in front of snooty sales assistant or no, flattering size eight skinny jeans at less than £150 don’t come along every day. You have to embrace opportunities like these when they are presented to you.
    With the jeans purchased, I composed myself and ventured downstairs, to International Contemporary Collections. Since I was already here and had a perfect excuse for indulging in a little retail therapy I felt I might as well carry on. I purchased a gorgeous Vivienne Westwood print blouse and a cute pair of earrings from Juicy Couture before stocking up on some essential beauty things on the ground floor. As I left the shop I realised that I had entered my pin number at the till without even looking at the total. I had no idea what I had just spent and I really, really didn’t care.

6
     
    Cassie Cavanagh will shop if she wants to, shop if she wants to, shop if she wants to
    Two days after Dan broke up with me, the Harvey Nicks bags still lay untouched in the corner of my bedroom. I was, I have to admit, wallowing a bit. After I returned from my shopping trip on Tuesday I’d rung Ali, who hastened round with several bottles of booze. I can’t remember exactly what we drank now. I think she made cocktails of some sort. It’s all a bit of a blur. At some point I crawled under my duvet and have hibernated there for the best part of forty-eight hours.
    Occasionally I’ve surfaced to go to the loo or to pick, half-heartedly, at the contents of the fridge. But other than that I’ve loyally floundered in smelly pyjamas, watching DVDs borrowed from Jez, the bloke from downstairs who, fortunately for me, owns a vast collection of violent action movies and political thrillers. As far as I’m concerned, these are the only genres that can be tolerated post break-up. Far better,in the early days of heartbreak, to wade knee-deep in blood and guts than to weep for lost love, so my usual collection – Love Actually , How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days and various Jane