The Exclusive Book sale.

Twice a year an event occurs which eclipses all in my world, the Exclusive Book sale. The universe in its eternal wisdom has placed the first sale just a day before my birthday and funny enough the second 2 weeks after my husbands. A month before it starts my body craves books; I go into a bookstore just to smell the ink, a mini fix before the real event.

As a member of the Fanatics club, I get to go to the preview on the night before the official start of the sale. A week prior to that children and husband are organised, nothing left to chance. Only another addict can comprehend how I’m feeling. My heart pounds, I don’t sleep, I’m jittery and I mention the sale at least once a day. The sale starts at 5pm and by 4pm I’ve reminded hubby to come home on time, I don’t want to be later than 5:30 and trust me that’s a huge compromise. If he’s late I’m unusually irritable, even angry.

By the time I get there I feel calm, I take a deep breath and start browsing, my fingers slip over spines, feeling their smooth un-creased virginity. Old friends call to me reminding me how much I enjoyed their company, new authors promise a better thrill. ‘I love you long time’, they purr.

I’m a methodical shopper. I start on one end and then slowly shuffle along making sure I don’t miss a book. There is solidarity with the other browsers, we recognise our fellow addicts. We dance around each other, getting closer and trading places with a quick step. Our eyes never leaving the tables, we don’t want to lose our place. Within half an hour, my arms are full. A man who is an obvious a newbie asks sarcastically if I want a trolley and then just looks at me when I say yes please. I have this silly demented grin on my face and he backs away slowly, aware of my madness.

I’m not an indiscriminate shopper I don’t buy everything I grab, I have a system, but that doesn’t stop me from spending too much as usual.

I normally go alone but this year Selina joins me. She’d arrived early and had already bought her books by the time I got there, but as a fellow addict by the time I’ve finished more titles have caught her eye and once again her arms are full too. I see the gleam in her eye at finding that novel that she’d wanted, but didn’t want to pay R250. The darting looks from table to table wondering what she’d missed. Finally, with a sigh we pay, and go have something to eat, ragged and weak from our ordeal, coming down from our high, bags laden.

I know that I’m not alone in my mania. We may not have the same addictions but I recognise the look on my sister’s face when she goes past a shoe shop, my husband’s glee at walking into a hardware store. It’s ok to have a little hit every once in a while as long as you don’t make a habit of it.