One of the things I hate most about moving is the inevitable 473 trips it takes to the suburbs to get all the moving supplies and new-place stuff -- shower curtain liners, paper-towel holders, etc. I tried to make it easier by trying to go to a container store first -- they specialize in that kinda thing, and you don't have to walk an entire warehouse of unrelated stuff to find what you need -- but they either keep insanely brief hours, or they were out of business; it was hard to tell just by walking around it and looking in the windows repeatedly, while mumbling "Ikea. Ikea," despite having read the Mental Floss article that told me more than I wanted to know about them.
I feel like a traitor to my gender in my hatred of all-things-shopping. I'm not good at it, and I shop like a man. I can't remember the name of the comic who said his embrace of shopping was limited to a circumstance where, if he got cold, he went in a store and bought a coat so he wasn't cold anymore; then he walked out. Yeah. That sounds about right. And don't even suggest shopping online as an alternative, because the only thing I have ever successfully bought online that looked in person the way it looked online is Harry and David pears. Luckily, we have half a dozen vendors at work who send those every Christmas, so I don't even order those anymore.
My mom's a champion shopper, but hardly ever takes me with her anymore because I just end up tugging on her jacket and whining, "I wanna goooooo hooooooome." I wish I'd had her with me today, because I know she could've gotten in and out and found everything on my list. I, on the other hand, did not buy one thing.
That wasn't the reason I didn't buy anything though. As soon as I turned the corner where I could see the checkout, I was greeted by a wall of flesh. There was a sea of humanity stretching for what seemed like miles between me and my purchases. And what did I do? I burst into tears of frustration, put down my Oatmeal Express, and walked out. I rarely cry, and this was twice in the last six weeks -- though in fairness to me, the most recent time, someone had died, so that was not necessarily an inappropriate response.
their annual sales for me (the first one was in Jersey, so that's fair).
My gal Elle in NYC promises she will take me there in August, allthough I've shared with her my concern that any store that closes the doors on Oprah is probably not going to admit the likes of me --- no, nor any of my folk.