Wendyl Nissen: Happiness comes in packages

Wendyl Nissen found her EziBuy addiction escalating as each ensuing chapter she finished warranted a reward from the online shop. Photo / Thinkstock

"Oh look, another EziBuy catalogue," says my husband, with just a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"Just put it over there," I say hastily, as if the thought of looking at a mail-order catalogue and buying large quantities of comfortable jeans, cosy pyjamas and enveloping cardigans online was something I would never dream of doing in a month of Sundays.

"Oh look, another EziBuy parcel," says my husband with just a hint of horror in his voice.

"Just a few basics for around the house," I say. "God forbid I should ever leave the house in them," I laugh heartily.

For months, my husband has met a courier at the door, received a vague white parcel and delivered it to me - his face desperately trying to hide his disappointment.

The former magazine editor my husband fell in love with 16 years ago used to wear labels. Very good labels, because spending hundreds of dollars on a single item of clothing was considered a necessary expense for someone who charged around an office all day barking instructions. World, Karen Walker, Kate Sylvester and Wallace Rose all featured large in my wardrobe.

Now, I spend my time hiding out in my home enjoying a reclusive lifestyle. Most days I get covered in mud, baking soda, flour or hen poo, and sometimes all four at once. I dig in the garden, I make natural cleaning products out of baking soda, I bake bread and I gather eggs.

Shit happens.

Consequently, on any of my increasingly rare outings I'm the one in the restaurant or the business meeting desperately rubbing away at a stain or wiping my shoes in an attempt to appear not just groomed, but reasonably clean.

And so my jackets and suits from some of our best designers remain hanging in the wardrobe, and I get around in a fair bit of elastic-waist anything and loose-fitting something.

My husband, on the other hand, owns not one single piece of clothing from a chain store. His jeans, T-shirts and pullovers feature the best international labels and are bought online at great expense. Mention the word "Barkers" or "Hallensteins" and he shudders.

"If you just bought one really good, quality item it would look and wear much better than five of the same thing from EziBuy," he once said hopefully.

"It's no use buying good clothes when they just end up getting covered in mud," I replied in my voice that says: "and we'll be having no more discussion on that topic."

And then it arrived. The catalogue with a huge card on the outside which said: "Thank you for being one of our best-ever customers", with a heart logo next to it.

"I wonder," says my husband as he delivers it to me, "just how many basics for around the house it takes to be a 'best-ever customer'."

I had been sprung. I have an online shopping EziBuy addiction.

It started very innocently one day when I was meeting my latest book deadline. It was tough going, and the research and writing was doing my head in.

"If you get to the end of the chapter you can buy something from EziBuy," I told myself. And so, not one, but two pairs of black jeans were purchased.

The next day it was flannelette sheets, the following day soft cotton pyjamas, and so it went on.

"I think you'll find that it's not that much at all," I say.

"And many of the things have been bought for others."

I had bought my daughters a few things which had been received with not a lot of enthusiasm.

"Whatever makes you happy," he says, glancing sideways at the poly fleece tracksuit I had thrown on to walk the dog. "Whatever it takes."