I am beginning to look on this blog as my own personal rant vehicle. Today I have a rant that is entirely unrelated to anything creative, literary or in any way cerebral. Today I am venting my spleen about shopping.
Am I the only woman on the planet who hates shopping? Please tell me I'm not alone. It's meant to be an age-old male/female divide thing - men hate it, women love it. But I am a woman, and I HATE SHOPPING!
The reason I have worked myself up into this tizzy is a themed hen night next weekend. I have to attend as I'm a bridesmaid, and of course I want to attend, as the bride-to-be is one of my closest friends, but glamour is not my forte, and the theme of the night is Sex and the City, so glamour is something of a prerequisite.
I spent Friday trawling around Brighton trying to find a dress, and failed dismally. In fact, I started talking to myself - never a good sign. On entering Oasis, I stood in the doorway and demanded of the people around me, "When do I ever shop in Oasis? What on earth am I doing in here?" then turned and walked out. No doubt I left a few bemused shoppers in my wake. After four hours I could feel the pull of the sea - a flying leap from the end of the pier was tempting. Instead, I headed home and phoned my mama, who talked me down.
Yesterday I drove to Canterbury so that my lovely mum could accompany me around yet more shops, trying on more dresses than I knew existed and looking utterly ridiculous in all of them. I reached the point where I could no longer be civil to the incredibly helpful and patient shop assistants in Noa Noa, so called it a day and once again headed home empty-handed.
Currently my friend will have a naked hen... well, I have some shoes.