I think when it comes to shopping for myself, there is definitely something wrong with me.
Much to my husband’s delight, I’m not a massive fan of shopping. The crowds, the queues and the expense just put me off.
These days I’m more at home shopping in Mothercare than in Next, H&M or the list of other high-street women’s clothes shops.
Today was a classic example. I needed some cropped trousers for my holidays so I decided to brave the shops – pretty much all of which have sales on at the moment.
This of course is a mixed blessing. On one hand I could bag myself a bargain, on the other I had to wade through what looked like a jumble sale to see if there was anything worth buying.
So after fighting my way through the more serious shopaholics – whose whole afternoon will be taken up with perusing the clothing rails – I finally get far enough into the store to see what’s on offer.
I spot a bargain, but of course there isn’t anything left in my size.
So my hunt continues but I can’t find any other cropped trousers which I either like or fit me.
But I do have in my hand a couple of everyday tops which I have spotted in the sale which will be handy to have.
So I nip to the changing rooms just to quickly try them on, but there is a massive queue.
Should I listen to what my purse is telling me and leave the shop, should I just assume they will be okay, should I wait and wonder what on earth I am doing? The dilemma.
So the end result is I’ve left the shop all flustered with two tops I didn’t really need.
And I still need to go through this ordeal again to get what I actually went shopping for in the first place.