*Searching for brown socks is futile and makes me angry. Just stay home and shop Amazon.
*Mannequins are scary. The nasty things repeatedly jolted me out of my deep, outfit-pondering trances. Do retailers realize that filling their store with lots of lurking, icy, plastic women might be counterproductive?
*Layering clothes, while attractive, means double the money. Can’t do it.
*Trying on frames for new glasses = a study in all my insecurities, because a) I can’t tell the women’s frames from the men's, b) I have no idea what looks good on my face, c) I’d like to be big, bad, and bold and go for something huge and expressive but haven’t the nerve, which means that, d) I’m stylishly mediocre, the (re)realization of which makes me, e) depressed.
*Upon arriving home at 3 pm, battered and lunchless, the solution is simple. First, a peanut butter apple, snarfed. Second, a hard pretzel with slices of smoked Gouda. Third, a cup of coffee with whipped cream, a mini Heath bar, and the newest Bon Appetit.
The photo has nothing to do with the post, except to serve as
an example of the exact opposite of how I feel post shopping.