Definitely Not a Shopaholic

I detest shopping. In my book there isn’t a more loathsome activity than buying clothes for myself. I have been mostly getting by on what I brought over here to Spain with a few amendments.  I have needed to buy a lot in the way of summer apparel as that was lacking in my wardrobe transferred from Seattle where summers are short and not very hot. For the life of me I can’t understand how a lot of people seem to enjoy shopping. I’m actually a decent dresser but that’s only because I have fairly classic taste when it comes to clothing so I never look stylish or out of style—if that’s even possible. All I know is that I REALLY need to buy some new clothes.

Fuck. I tried to buy a pair of casual shoes yesterday and it was like I was trying to find a backroom transplant organ.  “Here’s a kidney for you but it probably isn’t compatible.”  I actually picked out a pair that I could see from outside a store that I go by regularly, like seeing a shiny object from the surface of a poisonous well.  So in this clumsily-construed mixed metaphor I needed to dive into the poisonous well to retrieve a mismatched organ. I don’t think that I have ever performed an impulse buy in my life. I had been thinking about this damn pair of shoes for a couple of weeks, mostly trying to talk myself out of the purchase. It turned out I waited too long because when I finally worked up the nerve (or whatever) to go inside they were out of my size. Fuck.

I despise shopping but I like the fact that here in Spain there are so many little stores to choose from. I have tried the big mall at El Saler but that place just creeps me out. So now I’ll have to start all over again? Or I can just wait it out until it’s time to wear shorts and sandals again.