Shopping. What a terrifying experience.

This weekend I did something that I very rarely do - I shopped. And I did a bloody good job of it too, I got a pair of shoes and 3 shirts - maybe not a big achievement for most people, but there is something inherently wrong with my relationship with shopping.

I can only put it down to childhood experiences; in my youth I would be dragged round Hastings, clothes shopping with my mother, and here my stubbornness forced me to stand outside New Look for the duration of her venture inside - I would refuse to cross the threshold, as if I was cursed to never enter a New Look (this curse has not held, as I made the trip inside one this weekend).

Another huge leap I made this weekend was to venture shopping alone - sort of. As my girlfriend was trying on a dress I skulked at the entrance to the changing rooms, pretending to text and trying to while away the time. She then asked me to find her a smaller size, with fear in my heart I stuttered but felt strong enough to attempt this. I left and boarded the escalator, gliding down to the ladies section. My eyes darted around, the pop music and bright colours scaring me like a guinea pig trapped in a corner by a group of menacing adolescents. As I reached the ground I realised the scale of my challenge - I now had to remember where this dress came from, find it and find the correct size. Something I have never had to do - I usually buy the wrong sized clothes for myself as I feel it's too much effort and embarrassment flicking through a couple of items in order to find something that fits. So embarking on finding clothes for someone else was terrifying for such a novice as myself.

I managed to locate the dress amongst the brawl of H&M and set to returning to the changing room, but I still had the chamber guard to negotiate. I had no idea how to address this situation - here was a boy (or man, as some might tentatively describe me now) holding a dress, queuing for the changing rooms. Anxiety bubbled inside me as the shoppers in front slowly dispersed into changing rooms. The strangely dressed guard (like this chap) with his ankle swingers, no socks and boat shoes (why is that considered a good look, anyway?) then looked at me, as I managed to mutter "it's for my girlfriend... is that OK?" - he nonchalantly nodded and I entered.

Phew. That was that melodrama over. I went back to my slumped position against the entrance.

After all this manic shopping I was granted the joy of popped to Asda where I found myself more comfortable - although still infinitely more awkward than is considered acceptable - where I found myself a far more attractive offer than paying over £50 for one pair of shoes.

 

So I scampered home and ate them infront of Spaced - which I fully recommend people watch on 4od.

Well that was my Sunday. I hope you had a good one.