Definition:
The variety of guilt, disappointment, or embarrassment one feels in a gurgling stomach; one that makes you want to sit down in a comfy chair with a whole pumpkin pie, a fork, and possibly a can of spray whipped cream, and devour the whole thing simply because, if your mouth is full, you cannot curse.
Pumpkin Pie Guilt can be caused by a variety of factors including, but not limited to:
- · Lying to one’s grandmother
- · Signing a contract at the gym but never actually going to work out
- · Purposefully using a lie to skip an appointment/ date/ party when you decide your selfish mood is more important than those relying on you
- · Breaking up with, or being dumped by your boyfriend/girlfriend
- · Your credit card gets declined in front of a group
- · The job you “had in the bag” was given to someone else
- · Signing onto your web account and realizing your checking account is uncomfortably low and most of your credit cards are maxed out (not to mention one bill is two days late).
Every month these innocent-looking, seemingly harmless little rectangular envelopes arrive in my mailbox. Sometimes I approach them before tearing them open, taking a deep breath as the acid builds in my lower esophagus. Most of the time, the leaflets inside are encouraging me to charge another pair of fabulous pants or another pedicure on the credit card they represent, insisting that the debt isn’t what’s important, it’s the points, rewards, sky miles, and carefree hours of retail therapy that really matter.
In my three years as an all-American, debt-building, economy-supporting credit card user, I’ve realized that the momentary euphoria induced by that particular pair of Nine West pumps I just bought would never balance out the anxious heartburn that occurs when the bill comes in the mail.
So I signed up for online, paperless billing.
At first, Visa and Victoria’s Secret made me feel better by pointing out that I’m saving trees. There seemed to be something a little less threatening about a simple reminder e-mail to pay a bill, as opposed to an angry-looking, officially solid letter. But just like the thrilling adrenaline rush of purchasing a new purse, this feeling didn’t last long.
As I signed onto the Express website to pay a portion of my credit card bill the other day, I was greeted by a gorgeous model strolling arm in arm with a handsome gentleman while wearing the newest of little black dresses: a Nylon/Rayon/ Spandex V-neck Sleeveless Tube Dress that said sexy/sophisticated, especially with the right clutch purse and metallic bangle bracelet. The marketing director and art editor played this one pretty cool. Priced at $79.50 this is no Marc Jacobs, but let’s face it, I’m no Carrie Bradshaw either. For the price of that dress, I could fill up my gas tank and buy a week’s worth of groceries. Nice try, Svetlana, you’re not pulling a fast one on me: not anymore. So I skip the shopping and click on Pay Your Bill.
There she was again: Svetlana (or whatever he name is) with her frizzy hair and heavy eyeliner trying to seduce me into buying that fabulous silk blazer, but at this particular moment, she seemed to be using her angry eyes as a warning to those who can’t handle their plastic, almost as if to say, “Beware all ye who enter here.”
(Personally, I don’t think she would have actually read Dante’s Inferno, let alone be able to quote it, but assuming this model is an idiot is like assuming that a porn star can’t have a Master’s Degree. No judging.)
I entered my username and password, waiting with bated breathe as the page loaded and the truth came out in the numbers. Svetlana was still staring at me from the top of the page. I’m sure the photographer wanted her to convey a specific message with this picture. He wanted her to say: “Krysta you would look amazing in this jacket, and if you don’t buy it, I’ll eat you.”
“Krysta, pay your goddamn credit card bill and get the hell off this website. Beauty is reserved for thin girls with fat wallets. And you, my dear,” as she pauses for effect, looking me up and down, “are neither one of those.”
Pumpkin Pie Guilt. Here we go again. Sometimes it can be so easy to avoid by using back-up excuses: “It could be worse, some people are in a lot more debt than me” or “the credit bureau isn’t actually made up of real people, they’re not as disappointed in me as I think they are.” But this one snuck up on me.
And for those of you out there who are thinking: "Well, I'm exempt from this one. I don't even like pumpkin pie," not so fast. Even if you can't stand any variety of pie, there are plenty of ways you may soothe the painful symptoms; plenty of creamy, cheesy, calorie-packed comfort foods for which to spackle your emotional wounds. One of my friends prefers to stave off stressful exam studying with jars Spaghetti-O's, another prefers an entire jar of peanut butter and a spoon to spooning with yet another inadequate lover. Whether it be marshmallow fluff, onion dip and chips, blue box macaroni and cheese, Ben and Jerry's ice cream (I could go on forever), filling in the chunks of emotional sheetrock missing from your person can be done with any variety of things. Not to mention, it seems the more people I talk to, the more I realize this dark, behind-closed-doors little habit is more common than it seems.
Common or not, I still don't feel much better. Thank goodness for Planet Fitness and Jillian Michaels.
Sometimes I just want a hug and a lottery ticket.
