Ahhh yes, retail therapy!

PIXIE the pig dog doesn't eat so much as inhale. She's unperturbed by size and shape, or even whether what she's swallowing is food. Last weekend she hoovered a whole lamb chop. Charmingly, she then regurgitated it for a cursory chomp before sucking it straight back down.At least the chop was mostly digestible. Some of the things Pixie inhales re-emerge at the other end pretty much intact.
The sticky rice and mince Pixie gets for dinner had her stumped for a while. Her usual vacuum cleaner technique failed dismally. (Imagine trying to snort lines of Clag glue.) But Pixie is very creative when it comes to the rapid consumption of food. She discovered that if she used her upper teeth to stabilise the outside rim of her bowl, she could use her lower jaw to shovel and excavate like a piece of earthmoving equipment.
Talk about efficient. Once again, she was able to demolish dinner in a matter of seconds.
Sadly, Pixie never revels in her culinary achievements. The look on her face at mealtimes is always one of grim determination. She's an absolute machine.
There's no enjoyment and no savouring. And when the food's gone, all she can think about is when the next plate will arrive.

Pixie's speed dining reminds me of the compulsive way many of us buy stuff. Hardworking and cashed up, we reckon it's our right to reward ourselves with retail therapy. But how often do we stop to chew?
Psychologists say compulsive buying in Western societies is increasing and that up to 16per cent of the population are shopaholics suffering problems similar to those of gambling addicts. But even those of us without a clinical condition know the rat-in-a-wheel feeling of trying to chase a high through a buy.

All we need to be happy is a slightly bigger wardrobe, we tell ourselves. All we need to be happy is an updated computer, a flashier car and a house. Oh, and also a $200 La Perla silk G-string, a 12-pack of Wollemi pines, a briefcase that doubles as an MP3 player and car alarm, a designer labradoodle with painted Paris Hilton toenails, an age-reducing shower curtain infused with truffle oil and a signed, life-sized portrait of David Hasselhoff.

You know, just the bare essentials.

According to a recent study, Australians spend $10.5 billion a year on goods and services we never use. Psychologists refer to this as the hedonic treadmill. The term describes the way humans are much better at craving things than enjoying them. And the phenomenon is unrelated to the quantity of material possessions we accumulate.

A Sydney psychiatrist used to counsel a miserable multi-millionaire who believed just one more million would make him happy. When it didn't, he decided he'd simply got the calculations wrong.
Just one more million after that last million. That's what would do the trick.

At this point of the discussion, non-materialistic types usually step in with a hectoring lecture about the evils of spending money and the righteousness of being content with what one has.
But, apart from being trite, this approach ignores the fact that buying stuff is a) inevitable and b) capable of bringing great pleasure. The trick is to do a little less impulsive inhaling and a little more maths. Those $700 Manolo Blahnik halter sandals in hot fuchsia you've been coveting, for instance. Do they really represent good value for the hours of work required to pay them off? Or will their purchase simply provide a momentary buzz, a protracted guilt, then an overwhelming craving for the $850 pair of Sedara d'Orsay silk and satin pumps with diamante buckles in the window display nextdoor?

If you do expect $700 worth of happiness from the fuchsia sandals (and girlier friends assure me this is indeed possible), then it makes perfect sense to crack open the credit card. But if they're destined to pass through your life as undigested as one of Pixie's inanimate snacks, perhaps it's better to hold off on the shovelling and wait until something really tasty comes along.