I shop too much.
Do you ever “fear” a shopping opportunity?
Say . . . when you know a store is holding a big sale. Or when a brand you like is releasing new products.
You get the email (or, if you want to be old-fashioned, the flyer in the mail), and while you’re eager to see the deal/the goods . . . you are also terrified that you might have to indulge a bit TOO much.
That’s what I’m dreading for tomorrow.
Tomorrow: Harveys releases Fall Seatbeltbags.
I don’t know if I want really great things . . . or no great things . . . or maybe just one great thing to tempt me.
I want all three of those options. And none of them.
I wrote a lot after this.
A lot of neurotic bitter bitchface.
I turned two appointments into a total novel of acrimony.
But even I tired of all the words. I’m aching all over and Minion is pitching a tired fussy fit.
So I’ll merely say . . .
I’m such a nerd b/c I’m so looking forward to two biographies arriving tomorrow from Amazon.
Tired fussy fits combined with nightly PixyAches makes for one who desires a stop at the ABC Store.
I can’t decide if I’d get the vodka that tastes like cake . . .
. . . or the maple-flavored whiskey.
Had both on our Cornfields trip.
Old-fashioned medicinal cures, that’s what it is.