I hate the idea of shopping therapy. I know that there are plenty of women who buy handbags or shoes or whatever after they get dumped, and I’m aware that there are plenty of men who need new cars or golf clubs or boats to make up for, er, other inadequacies.

But it seems like a nasty habit based on capitalistic upbringings and corporate greed. A new blouse cannot make up for a hole in one’s life, and the satisfaction from these types of purchases cannot last much longer than when the item appears on a credit card purchase.

I don't like it, but all of this talk doesn’t mean that I’m immune to this type of health and wellness cure.

I feel a uncomfortable feeling of calmness when I am shopping at Target. I like to be able to go in with a list of things that I need—soap dispensers, those little press-on hooks for the shower—little things that have been bugging me to buy them for one reason or another. I come out with a goofy sense of accomplishment; now my household will be more nearly complete.

Perhaps my shopping addiction could be considered a little more practical than most, but it is really no different. Addicts can only feel better when ever little crevice is filled with booze or pills or those little press-on hooks for the shower. I like to fill my shopping cart with so-called practical things, but I’m well aware that I wouldn’t find them so practical if I hadn’t used them before. I wouldn't miss them if they hadn’t been invented for the express purpose that I would buy them.

So maybe my shopping indulgences should be more sparkly or meant for once-a-year use. It seems so wasteful to me to have things like this, though, when I was in high school, I always bought prom dresses that could be redesigned to be wearable year around. Those princess dresses everyone else was wearing? Not for me for a number of reasons, but their impracticable nature was one of them.

I think I’m like Ben on Parks & Recreation. On a recent episode of the series, his coworkers invite him along to their annual “Treat Yourself,” during which they buy expensive jewelry and clothing. Ben chooses to buy himself a pack of socks.

Perhaps shopping therapy that can be conceived as useful and practical is easier to swallow days after you realize what you did. Whatever the reason, I bet Ben really liked those socks.