Walk a Mile in My…

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“You can only take 8 items into the dressing room,” the guy with the earphone stated, staring at my huge pile of clothing.

I hate shopping. Have I mentioned that I hate shopping? Now, don’t get me wrong. I love clothes, I just hate shopping. What I would like is for a pile of fantastic clothes that flatter my figure and fit me like a glove to magically appear in my wardrobe. But shopping? Not so much.

“OK, I’ll leave the rest of these outside, and swap them out,” I replied, separating out a stack of t-shirts.

I went through the pile of t-shirts, passed out the losers (most of them), and moved on to the stuff on hangers. And then, when I was done, got dressed again.

Except I had no shirt.

After searching frantically through the clothes piled in the dressing room, I realized I must have passed my own t-shirt out with the ones I tried on. So I threw on one with dangly tags and rushed out to find the guy with the earphone.

Ah yes, I am the very arbiter of grace and beauty. Never a foot wrong, never a hair out of place…

After a few minutes search, we managed to find my t-shirt on a pile of clothes waiting to be folded. So I wasn’t, in the end, forced to walk a mile home in just my bra.

Have I mentioned that I hate shopping? Yeah, I thought I had.