Is paved with good intentions... or in this case a trail of them. Firstly our very kind neighbour popped a token through our door in thanks for the cat-sitting duties we carried out while she was away for a fortnight - a treat in a world of no treats! Next I offered to take Stu along to the store in which the token could be exchanged for consumables, merely because I thought it was rude not too, despite knowing his aversion to all things shop related. This, of course is where the doublespeak takes over; I had no desire to be followed by a miserable man as I tried to locate a bra that did not push my tits up to my chin or hide industrial quantities of foam. Stu did not want to watch me or anyone else carry out such tasks, or indeed go anywhere near a shopping centre; but he came along because he thought I wanted him to. Mars and Venus, I know. Distressingly, as we should have remembered when we witnessed our bantam-breeding neighbour putting a box of hens in his car, it is the weekend of the Royal Highland Show, when the relevant roundabout on the city bypass becomes a car park; we were headed into the mouth of the monster.
To be honest, the traffic jam was fairly painless; a little light Nick Cave goes a long way and we were both still in a gung ho frame of mind, lulled into false security by the idea of 'free' underwear or similar thrilling items (not enough for a full outfit each). I won't drag out the story; we trudged around looking at shapeless frilly things and trousers made of elastic; Stu looked as if he might do himself damage with a sharp object if he happened upon one. The bra section nearly gave me a full on panic attack and I totally failed in this most basic of female requirements - having even prepared with a fitting in the kitchen with an extendy metal d.i.y tape. Back to the old grey number with bits of lace hanging off it, or the purple foamy monstrosity that I ordered on the internet when we were living on Arran; they do the job and that, I am afraid, will have to do for now. I did discover that, after buying mixed packs of blue pants, that given the choice, Stu would rather match his socks and go black; black pants were purchsed successfully, so the outing was not entirely useless, if a little glamour free.
To be fair, I did finally snatch up a lime green linen shirt which was discovered on return to actually fit and look half decent - hardly original as it is a dead ringer for one I sadly retired last year, but we did spend our voucher and return alive, if cynical.
Spent the rest of the day painting happily in the studio with cats, music and my own company, Stu painting the latest bit of the kitchen and indulging his new found pleasure in weeding the neighbour's driveway.
Its a learning curve I guess, and a valuable lesson is learned. Next time, I go alone.
My mind is now getting ready to become obsessed with the ESSA auction, bidding for which opens on Saturday; I know myself too well to think I will get away without hourly updates on the internet and constant agonising about the sale, or lack of, of my painting.
If you took away my neurosis, what would I worry about all the time!??
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