1. Sometimes I really, really hate shopping. In fact most of the time. But I don't realize until I'm there.
I was talking to myself, almost delirious with frustration and pain on Oxford Street today. Looking around the forest of clothes, I realized I liked and wanted to wear nothing around me. It was all awful. And if on the off-chance it wasn't, it either was at second glance, or was only just ambling towards sort-of-okay. So it struck me. I don't actually like shopping. Sure, the nice clothes when they are actually found and it's satisfying, but the process is soul-numbing and peppered with tourist's elbows especially in Central London. The thing is, I get excited about going shopping, like I think it will be different from almost every single time I have developed a black mood whilst trudging out of American Apparel. It didn't even start well. I was taking some dungarees ( I know, shut up, they're cool) back to a shop in Camden, as they had not fit. Now I HATE changing rooms. I just generally can't be arsed, especially in the winter months, to peel off the layers, so I didn't try them on when I purchased them, and when I did, they stayed put before my bum. So here I was, taking them back, asking for an exchange, blah. I still really want dungarees ( I know, shut up, they're cool) so I get all available dungarees off the rail, and muster enough courage to try them on. Long story short, they did not fit. None of them. All 5. And they weren't even close. Anguish, fire and a blanket of despondence all entered my life together, holding hands. Another long story short, the shop didn't do refunds. So I traipsed around all the awful clothes contemplating how awful they were, mumbling to myself how awful they were, my face betraying how awful they were in the hope something would take my fancy. I settled for a massive recycled denim bag ( which was actually pretty nice, can't lie ) And an AWFUL ring, just to get it up to £30. I'm looking at the ring now. It wasn't worth a tenner. It's crap :(
And it carried on that way for a while through Topshop, Zara, Mango and Bershka along with a multitude of Vintage Shops, my persona getting stormier, the day getting colder, and my spirit getting droopier. I was thirsty too that didn't help, so I went to Starbucks which I thought was above Next, but was actually above New Look, adding to my urge to start the tears. I began to wonder as my mind idle floated over the state of my afternoon how I has still managed to spend around £100. I hastily tried to pry my mind away and stop the imminent onslaught of further agony. And here Discover Two occured.
2. All of the above doesn't matter, well it does a bit, but not in the Grand Scheme Of Things.
As I was standing, impatiently waiting for my Mango and Passion Fruit Smoothie, heart weighty, eyelids weighty, I happened upon a Comments Book. You know, where people write their thoughts about how truly amazing the Latte and the service they just had were. Turned first page. Blank. Turned second page. Oh, Blank. Turned again, anticipating blank- but, ho! No! And this is what it read, paraphrased because I can't remember word for word.
'Hi! Thank you so much for the coffee here! We have just been evacuated from Cairo, where we weren't able to get stuff like this recently!'
And that was it. Boom. And I felt a little bit like a dick.
(I am going to change my shopping strategy though)