I went shopping yesterday.
Hardly worthy of a blog announcement, you might be saying to yourself. With, perhaps, a minuscule smirk on your face. But only a small one, because you like me, and don't want to hurt my feelings. Not that you have to worry about that, because, as we all know, I am a badass, and badasses do not easily get their feelings hurt over smirks. But I digress.
The thing is, I hate shopping. (Except in bookstores, because who could hate a bookstore? I mean, bookstores are a writer's Nirvana...uh-oh. Doing it again. Sorry.)
I can deal with shopping for other people when I have to, but shopping for me is insanely boring. Sadly, my favorite old jeans were getting raggedy, and the sweaters, sweatshirts and other long-sleeved, comfy shirts I live in during the winter months were starting to develop tiny holes along the shoulder seams. (When you get to be my age, that's not a fashion statement. It screams "bag lady.")
I contemplated getting out needle and thread -- for about five seconds -- and then said to myself, "Self, screw it. You are going clothes shopping!"
Self was not thrilled, but understood that every five years or so, the basics must be replaced. So I hauled myself down to the local department store. Not Tarzhay (that's "Target" to people not trying to be ironic), and not Nordstrom (which I adore; Nordstrom is my mom's maiden name, but alas, we are not related, even though a friend of mine who works at Nordstrom introduced me to one of THE Nordstroms, and he looked more like me than my own brothers do...oops. I'm doing it again, aren't I?)
Anyway, after an intense couple of hours trying on everything in my size (they were having an effing sale. Everywhere I looked were bargains too good to pass up. *grumble, groan*), I wound up with two pairs of jeans (dark and light), two sweaters (both green -- my favorite color -- but slightly different greens, and one is a V-neck, the other a turtleneck, so it's really not redundant), five long-sleeve tees (various colors), and a three-quarter sleeve blouse thing I'll be able to wear when the weather gets warmer (see? I can plan ahead. Besides, it was clearance).
Oh, and a sweater for TG. It's green, too. But not in that cute matchy-matchy way. Because we are badass, not "cute."
When I got home, I was so mentally exhausted from the whole experience all I could do was sip tea and read on my Kindle. This morning, my thumb is kind of achy. I think I may have "Kindle thumb." Which doesn't sound nearly as athletic as tennis elbow, but... Crap. I'm doing it again...
So, that's why this post sucks. But at least you can imagine me writing it in better jeans.*
*Not really. I'm actually still in my robe, a really old, navy blue terrycloth thing that has seen better days, but is so comfortable I can't bear the thought of replacing it. But that's not symmetrical, like the jeans line is. Writers are not above sacrificing a piddling thing like the truth for the sake of symmetry.