Me, The TV, and QVC

I hate shopping. Nothing annoys me more. And this makes me feel like a freak of nature because most of the women I know love to shop. They love the browsing part, the trying the stuff on part and even the figuring out how they’re gonna juggle their credit cards to pay for it, part. They love to stalk an item for weeks, like a hungry lioness, until their prey gives out and surrenders for a fraction of the original price. But that’s not me.

Maybe I missed out on the shopping gene or maybe I inherited my hatred of shopping from my mom, who hated it as well. But honestly, I would rather be stranded on the side of the road, in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night, in fear of being eaten by a Dingo, than to hit the mall.

Last year, I bought a winter coat for the first time in 14 years. The old coat had holes at the edges of both sleeves which I patched with little bits of lining and super glue, and by the time I finally broke down and bought the new one, I’d had the zipper on the old coat replaced four times.

And once a year, when my bras have finally given up any hope of holding my ta-tas in place, I make a pilgrimage to Victoria’s Secret. But that bit of shopping I have down to a science. I march through the doors, order three Perfect Coverage bras in my size, one white, one beige, one black, pay and leave. It’s my slam, bam, thankyou ma’am approach to shopping, a method that reminds me of several guys I dated, but in the bras case, they get to stick around.

But there was this one time, this one insane night, when all I wanted to do was go shopping. I don’t know what got into me, but I’m pretty sure it was the Demerol. I’d been in a skilled nursing facility for several days, recovering from double knee replacement surgery, which was an excruciatingly painful experience, so naturally, I was drugged up the Yin-Wah.

It was 3:00 am and I woke with a start, in a cold sweat from a Demerol-induced dream in which I’d been on tour with the Rolling Stones. This was great until their tour bus was stolen from my driveway, and I was running barefoot at night on slick, wet streets through a strange, poorly-lit city, on a quest to find it.

For a minute I didn’t know where I was. The room was dark, except for the light coming from the bathroom, and I was having trouble focusing, like someone had tie-died my eyeballs while I was asleep. Reaching for the bedside controls I raised myself to a sitting position, hoping to regain my equilibrium. My mind was still racing with flashes of my crazy dream and I needed to drown it out. So, grabbing the TV remote I brought the screen to life and began to channel surf.

Unfortunately, the only channels that came in clearly at 3:00 am were HGTV, The Home Shopping Network and QVC. I like the idea of having a garden but I hate gardening more than I hate shopping, so after a few minutes of HGTV I flipped over to the Home Shopping Network, figuring it would be the lesser of two evils. From makeup and skin products to porcelain figurines and sweater sets in dozens of colors, on and on it went.

When I got bored there, I flipped over to QVC, which featured a whole new set of crap I didn’t need. And then, a brand new host appeared on screen. She had the voice of an angel and seemed to be a natural at hocking useless stuff. “This fifteen-piece baking set is handcrafted and comes in five colors! It goes from oven to table to freezer in a flash and it can be yours for just four easy payments of $29.99!” She said excitedly. Her voice was so enticing, so reassuring that she drew me in immediately. It was clear that she loved this bakeware set more than anything in the world. She loved it so much I half expected her to say she was going to marry it and have little bakeware set babies.

“You’re not alone,” she continued. “Four hundred and twenty-nine other people are awake in the middle of the night, just like you, and they’ve already taken advantage of this limited-time offer. You won’t see this price again for months!” She sounded alarmed, like she herself might miss out on this collection of bakeware with its handy set of lids that made storing leftovers a breeze, if she didn’t act right away.

This made perfect sense to me, even though I also hate baking. But evidently, that didn’t matter. The Demerol was bringing out the girly-girl in me! Not only was I shopping from bed in a nightie, but I was shopping for bakeware I had no use for and getting pretty excited about it! Reaching for my phone, I dialed the number on the screen without a moments’ hesitation.

A cheerful operator picked up on the second ring. “Welcome to QVC!” she trumpeted proudly. “What can I help you with?”

I asked about the bakeware, made sure it came with a money-back guarantee if I wasn’t completely satisfied, and before I knew it, I was the proud owner of a set of bowls, bread and cake pans I’d probably never use.

“Would you like to speak with our on-air host?” she asked once my order was complete.

“I’m really high on Demerol right now so I don’t think so,” I declined her kind offer and signed off. But I didn’t decline to keep watching.

Other shoppers just like me did want to talk to the on-air host. They were ecstatic about the bakeware and many of them had ordered this spectacular collection in all five colors. What would be the point of living if you couldn’t have it all, they exuded. I was thrilled to hear others, braver and perhaps less medicated than myself, saying the exact same thing to the host, live on air. I had never experienced such a life affirming moment!

Strangers were talking into their phones and through the TV directly to me, sharing their dreams of pies and cakes and bread. And for a moment, I wanted to embrace the baker within. And I hoped that once home I’d discover another girlie gene that would make the most of this moment and at least whip up some brownies from a mix.

Several weeks later as I was limping my way back to the land of the walking, the bakeware set arrived at my door. It was even more beautiful than it had looked on TV, and as I unwrapped each piece I imagined that someday I might actually use them. I’m happy to report that I do find the collection useful. But the baking pans have seen more casseroles than cakes and when the bowls make an appearance, they’re usually filled with veggies and salads rather than the batter and frosting the other QVC shoppers must have in theirs.

I’ve never shopped on QVC again and I have absolutely no desire to do so. My new quest is to get myself to embrace the world of manicures, since I have the cuticles of a wolverine most of the time. But as you can probably guess, I hate manicures and I can’t seem to drag myself to a salon where, once again, most of my girlfriends love to go. That will probably only happen the next time I’m recovering from some surgery, and the Demerol induced girlie-girl comes riding back to town.