I had a day of shopping the other day, with my dear friend; which is something that we haven’t been able to do together in a long, long time. Of course, the lack of Ms Claire on many occasions and my distinct lack of disposable income both meant that I, myself, hadn’t been shopping in a long, long time.
Most of the time, I get shopping-rage when I’m on my own (this is not, however, limited to instances when I’m shopping alone, I’ll point out), and usually end up stalking out of the shop empty-handed with a growl and a cartoon-like storm cloud hanging over my head.
So, it was nice to shop with Claire again; if only because the rage doesn’t come on so easily with her around. But one problem. A problem that we all know about and sometimes refuse to acknowledge. It is the Sod’s/Murphy’s Law of Shopping: when you’re broke, you find everything you want. When you’ve got the money to spend, however, you find nothing.
But on this instance, Claire and I went to Primark (always a first stop, but always a key trigger for ‘shopping-rage’), and I was surprised to find that we didn’t get ‘shopping-rage’, but a different kind altogether: nothing.
We couldn’t find anything we wanted, and after a hum and a haw, we both begrudgingly purchased our very few items (nessecities, even, which is even more dull than not finding anything), and were about to depart when Claire found a top and fell in love.
‘I have to go back’, she said seriously. I nodded, a little jealous that she’d found something so cute just as we were about to leave the store. While she was back at the till, I browsed around in a seemingly unexplored section of the store (which was no Steffen Schraut, believe me) in order to kill time until Claire had made her impulse buy last minute purchase. But it was when I was looking at some decent wool dresses that I found one that was so cute, so distinctive, so me, that I had to admit, when Claire returned that, ‘I think I need to go back’.
Never say goodbye...
And this time it was Claire’s turn to wait until I made a u-turn back to the till to buy the little dress. It figures, of course, that we both would find something directly after labelling this trip to Primark a complete bust. Is this what it feels like to turn Sod’s/Murphy’s Law on its heel?
We went onward in search of boots (my favourite pair are very near to burying themselves as I refuse to throw them out), and were thus again disappointed. But lo! A beacon up ahead! It is…
H&M.
H&M, which you may have heard recently acquired a collection of Versace. I had a little look around that section and sniffed a bit. *shrug* I don’t get it. I don’t think of myself as any sort of style icon, and I don’t for once consider my opinion on fashion to be anything worth listening to, but really, the stuff was howling. I don’t understand why a label and the price of it means it’s popular.
Anyhow, more jumpers/dresses/shoes/bags to be found and cooed over in other sections, and I finally was satisfied with my purchases. And guess what? No shopping rage! WIN.
No boots though, but I don’t consider that a FAIL at all; if anything it’s just a testament as to how much my poor old favourites mean to me:
irreplaceable.
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