Shopaphobic

I hate to shop. And sometimes I'm even scared to shop. It wasn't so long ago that I was driven to submit a complaint to customer service at our local mall about the proprietors of those push-cart-kiosk thingies that seem to be increasing in numbers like carnival games along the midway. They always seem to delight in shoving a scented heating bag in my face or badgering me to answer their questionnaires.

"Yes, we do get quite a few complaints," said the nice lady behind the desk, after I told her I found it quite annoying to be hounded like that right in my own zip code. That was months ago and nothing has changed.

And while I'm at it, there's another thing about shopping I find frightening. Must the sales people bombard me with receipts? Just the other day I went to one of those big mall stores to buy a new pair of jeans. Just one pair. Just jeans. No sooner had I swiped my credit card than I was blitzed.

Next time I'll wear a flak jacket....or at the very least, a hard hat.

Well, enough of the scary part. Now for the hating part. Since we're having guests soon here at the Calcondo, it seemed like a good idea to shop for a queen-sized comforter set for the guest room so we could retire the twin-sized bedspread we've been making-do with for months. I wasn't dreading the task too much. After all, this is the time of year for white sales.

But I soon discovered that all the bed sets on sale are in either over-the-top zippy colors, or they're bland enough to double as shrouds. After days and days of searching--and countless hours taken away from my crafting pursuits--I found something I deemed acceptable.
I will choose not to look at this and think bordello. Instead, I will think Holiday Inn. I only hope our guests don't get the wrong idea and think they have to check out before noon.