This Almost Never Happens to Short People

I hate shopping.

To clarify further ... I hate rummaging through sales racks.  I hate parking lots and crowds and price tags and escalators and receipts and public restrooms and long lines.  I hate everything about dressing rooms.  (Seriously.  Why do they always have the worst lighting and the worst mirrors in there? Don't they want to make a sale?)  I hate seeing things I can't afford and spending money on the things I can (it's quite the quandary).  I hate that utterly horrible materialistic feeling that comes creeping up over you when you are being hurried along by the throng.

I avoid malls at all costs.

(Insert Visual Aid here.  Something that properly reflects how I feel about shopping short of taking a photo of myself while having teeth pulled.)

Thank God for online shopping or I would probably revert to wearing the same exact thing every day of my entire life. (Come to think of it ... nevermind.)  The point is, I put off shopping as long as humanly possible, and then a little longer.  That is why I have been wearing that old, raggedy sweater every day for the last three months.  And then asking Tim to sew up the holes every evening (he hates doing this.  The problem is, I suck at sewing.  If I sew the sweater, it will pop a hole mid-wear whereas if he sews it, it will wait until I get home.  Why does this always happen to my favorite clothes.)

I was dreading last Sunday.  Dreading.  That was the day I had set aside to hit up all the stores in Alpharetta, stock up on actually warm winter clothing for all three of us (as opposed to the actually not-warm summer clothing I usually buy), and get. it. all. done. in. one. go.  (No matter how many times this plan has failed me in the past, for some reason I always get this incredibly stupid idea that it will work out next time.)

And, shockingly, it did.

I woke up Sunday morning with a fever and a blistering head cold.  The kind that makes you think you will never be able to turn your head upside down to blow-dry your hair, and once you do, you will never be able to stand upright again.  (I stood there for like five minutes, screaming: TIM!  HELP!)  Suddenly what had seemed like a merely formidable day turned into something much worse: The Day I Would Probably Die.  Any sane person would just stay home in bed.  Not me.  (The thought process went something like this: Whenever I go shopping, it is going to make me feel horrible.  I already feel horrible.  No point in wasting two days.)  So off we went, feeling particularly optimistic (lies, lies, all lies), while the kiddo stayed behind with Nana.

We hit five stores.  And somehow managed to find almost everything we needed in an extremely short period of time.  On sale.  (Really.  People literally handed me coupons as I went.  I saved $30 in Old Navy alone.)  Everything fit perfectly.  Everything looked great.  (Case in point, the two pairs of jeans I selected out of an entire store of denim turned out to be exactly what I wanted.  They weren't even twenty-inches too long.  This almost never happens to short people.)

We drove home in a state of complete shock.

And the moral of the story is ... You should always, always shop when sick.  Either that or you should never, ever shop when sick (I have yet to re-try on all the things I bought.  I am putting it off as long as possible because I am afraid the drugs did something to my brain and I will soon discover that everything I bought is, in fact, disgusting.  Really, I am never this lucky.)

I'll keep ya' posted.