I hate shopping. Everyone knows it, including Hubby.
Today was no exception.
We were lucky to find a car parking space exactly where we wanted to be, where the ladies shops were practically all in a row, and for once I was feeling optimistic.
One of the Larger Lady retailers had a 30% discounted sale on. Even better thought I, as we left Maggie in the car and walked in.
Hubby loves me. I know this. But when it comes to clothes, I’d rather shop on my own but today he was determined to get what was needed under the guise of ‘medical supplies’, and cost was more or less irrelevant.
I knew my size of course but decided to ask the saleslady to measure me as it had been a while and I had lost a little weight since my last purchases.
I’ve actually lost 2 inches off my bust, so Hubby was grinning his ‘I-Told-You-So’ toothathon as we went back to the racks.
After yesterday’s fiasco with not finding anything approaching my (as it turned out wrong) size, I was somewhat miffed to discover that sizes here started at my OLD size and there was nothing available in stock.
What is even more annoying is that EVERYWHERE now seems to rely on ordering on-line, so that shops don’t have to keep unnecessary stock.
That is absolutely no good to someone like me who
a) hates shopping so doesn’t do so very often but likes to go in and buy immediately,
b) is on a bit of a deadline (ie before Monday).On to the next shop where we spoke to a very nice young lady who had very little in the way of stock at all, and nothing in my size, new or old, anyway.
Sports bras were by dress size, all of them being the over the head design, and crop tops wouldn’t provide sufficient support, even if they were back fastening.
However, she came up with several suggestions as to where we might get lucky, so we trotted off to continue our search.
I’m getting frustrated, hot and bothered, and want to go home.
Hubby is undeterred, marching into the next shop and taking a seat as I have a look around.
Hallelujah, I found something suitable in my size though not exactly what we had in mind.
I want to go to the till and pay, but Hubby wants to look elsewhere, saying it’s an option and we can always come back.
We end up going into an old favourite where we usually get his y-fronts, something else that has become victim to availability.
Ladies lingerie is in the
dungeon basement, and the assistant bless her, points us in the direction of the lift rather than the stairs as she sees he’s on sticks.
Perfect! Rows of exactly what we’re after, as recommended by the breast clinic, my size, a
two-pack. As I promise to wear the black one during the day and the white one at night so that he can see me in the dark, Hubby pulls it off the shelf before I can look at the price tag, which is horrendous! Thirty Quid!
I’m not happy. Hubby is ecstatic, elated, joyous even, as he goes up to the counter to pay.
I have no say in the matter. I need them, he says. It’s important, he’s paying. End of story.
Don’t misunderstand. I’m not ungrateful and know I’m extremely lucky to have a man like him in my life. But when it comes to spending money, we normally tend to be more conservative, and thirty pounds for two bras is rather high, especially when I could normally buy 4 or even 5 for that price.
Now that we have the vital underwear sorted, we decide to have a coffee but are too late for a breakfast roll so instead have a savoury pastry and a cake for our two pounds ‘deal’.
I’m fed up and on a hiatus from syns today.
I now need to look for nighties and insist I go on my own.
Hubby doesn’t mind, and goes back to the car to take Maggie for a short walk.
I returned to 2 of the previous shops but nothing was suitable.
As there was the sale on, I tried on a pair of jeans and got into a slim fit size 16 pretty easily. They were a little uncomfortable round the waist though, so maybe when I’ve lost a few more pounds. If they’d fitted, I would’ve bought them with Hubby’s blessing as he’s looking forward to replacing my wardrobe anyway.
He’s a gem, isn’t he.
Almost back at the car now, I returned to the shop where the assistant had been so helpful and found a nightshirt on the discounted rail.
For all I knew, it could have been half of a PJ set, but it was the jacket on its own, long enough to almost reach my knees, with buttons all the way down the front. Blue and white stripes like wee willy winkie, but who cares?
At seven quid, so much more acceptable.
On the way home, I was thinking about my future clothing requirements.
I have a cardigan I can wear instead of my jumpers, but I don’t actually possess any blouses, and all of my tee shirts go over my head.
Aw sh!t. Guess where we’re going tomorrow……………… yeah, Menswear!