Women are supposed to love shopping, right?
Wrong! At least when it comes to this woman. I hate it.
No, I take that back. I only hate it because I don’t have unlimited amounts of money that allow me to walk into whatever store I wish (Pottery Barn) and point my rich old lady wand and say things like, “I shall have this. And this. And what the heck, just for the fun of it, I shall have that too, I think it will look simply splendid in the conservatory!”
So, since I am not a rich old lady with a wand (and I have no idea why I am picturing a wand in there, I’ve seen a few rich old ladies in my day and they were never carrying wands), I usually only shop out of necessity. Not that I’m complaining, I’ve actually come to enjoy having a simple life.
But right now, I am being forced to shop. Or rather WE are being forced to shop. Out of necessity. For a car. I couldn’t be more miserable.
Brian wrecked his car into a telephone pole a few weeks ago. He went into town and bought me some tomato cages. On the way home, he had them laying on the console, up from the backseat, and they were poking him in the arm. He turned for just a second to adjust them and BAM! Straight into a telephone pole. He was fine and not going that fast, but the car was totaled.
So now we are forced to find something else. Gag. Have I mentioned before that I’m not a big fan of change? I was completely content with the vehicles we had. Now we have to go spend money. Thousands of dollars. I could vomit right now.
So, we are off in the morning to look at a vehicle. We have looked at what feels like a million over the past few weeks. I will probably hyperventilate all the way there. And have Brian pull over so I can puke. I don’t like spending large amounts of money. But who does, really? Other than rich old ladies with wands, of course.