EBAY Addict
I’ve become an overnight ebay addict. It didn’t creep up on me like some cravings, it enslaved me in one fell swoop. Surfing the net yesterday I found myself tapping in the address – and was dazzled by the booty I could access, with the supplementary thrill of a virtual auction and deadlines.
Scrolling through ebay’s vintage clothes (stylists predict they’ll be hot this year) I stumbled across a black flapper dress decorated with pink and mauve beads. It spoke to me: I had to have it.
There was already a sterling bid of £60 on it, and the seller said she’d bought it for a shocking sum in London’s Portobello Market. I was hooked. Especially by the idea of an outrageously expensive frock for around €100 if I increased the bidding marginally. That’s the glory of ebay, you can raise bids by tiny amounts.
Five different photographs showed close-ups of details, and the bidding history told me 16 people had made offers – good, if other ebayers wanted the dress it must be special – then I spotted something that set the adrenaline pumping. The auction closed in an hour. Ignoring the fact that I don’t need a party dress – it’s not about need, it’s about desire – I decided to offer £62. Except I couldn’t register to buy. Don’t ask me why, unless it was the credit card guardian angel intervening, but a message kept flashing that ebay was unable to process my application.
My brother turned up and I showed him the dress. He couldn’t muster much enthusiasm, but said if I was finished virtual shopping he wouldn’t mind pricing some camera lenses. ‘Finished?’ I shrieked. ‘I haven’t started!’ I had the ebay bug and I had it bad. There was now only half an hour left. He studied the photographs. ‘You’re always saying pink looks terrible on you.’ ‘But the pink beads are on a black background,’ I explained, ‘so I might get away with it.’ He looked puzzled, as well he might.
The clock was still ticking. I knew beyond a shadow of doubt that I must possess the dress. Oh no, someone else had just offered £62. ‘This happens all the time,’ said the brother, ‘people go to the line with the bidding.’ By now we were down to the final 15 minutes. Suddenly I remembered a friend with an ebay account and rang her: ‘No time to chat, look up a flapper dress in the vintage clothes section and bid £65 for it.’
She phoned back. ‘Are you sure you want this? It’s at least two sizes too big for you and won’t alter easily because of the beading.’ Oh. Yes. I’d forgotten to check the size. I went back and studied the measurements. She was right, it would hang like a sack. The dress sold for £62 but I didn’t care, too busy making the brother admire a coat similar to Marilyn Monroe’s in Some Like It Hot that might fit me if I adjusted the buttons and sleeves.
I have three hours left to decide and the bidding stands at £40. I may never set foot in a shop again.
