and i'm not afraid to say the wild boys were my friends

[ink_splotch]

So I've been reading Discworld today, or rather, I've read Men at Arms and Feet of Clay and for whatever reason I now want to write Ray-is-a-werewolf-fic. Oh c'mon - Carrot and Fraser? Tell me you don't see the parrallels. The voice, the ability to convince everyone of everything, the obliviousness?

Also, Ray would be an awesome werewolf. Stop staring at me like that.

It's possible that I'm still suffering from trauma related to yesterday's shopping trip. I really shouldn't go shopping when I *know* what I want, because then I won't go home until I've got it, which results in me wandering to-and-fro in Copenhagen for six hours, chasing after a pair of jeans (strangely the easiest thing to find - and I never find nice jeans), a bra (which amoung other fun things got me a run-in with H&M's assistants. "Do you have this bra in [size]?" [disbelieving gaze] "Noo - I'm sorry, but a girl of your...size...should perhaps look somewhere else." Well fuck her, because I did finally find a bra.), a pair of sandals (and why in hell am I suddenly a size 39 when usually I'm a 41?), two very nice shirts (yeah for flowy shirts!) and gifts.

Six hours. Six hours. I almost had a breakdown in Magasin (a department store); Celine Dion alternating with techno, eight million women looking for shoes, jeans, dresses etcetera at cheapest possible price, with humid warmth clinging to everything and one dressing room to share - at one point, sitting down, drinking some water and turning up Keeping the Faith on my iPod became nessecary so I didn't either breakdown or start yelling.

But I was successful and buying shoes was an experience - apparently the newest fashion is shoes-to-invade-Troy-in. I wish I'd brought my camera, because seriously, these shoes, sandals with thick straps, sort of like these. I was weirdly tempted to buy them, except sanity took over and reminded me that I wanted shoes I'd actually wear. But the sandals-for-invading-Troy were an experience.

And now I'm off to watch some Due South before I go to bed. Driving test tomorrow. Cross your fingers for me.

Comments

[myhappyface.livejournal.com]

*cringes*

Your post, in a nutshell, is why I wear my clothes to absolute rags in order to avoid shopping. Blech.

[vampirespider.livejournal.com]

I always forget how much I hate shopping, because I don't mind it in short spurts (by which I mean one store), or when shopping for books or CDs - for some reason, my mind overrides my negative memories, leaving me with the illusion it'll be fun. This usually lasts half an hour, after which my mind skips out, waving a cheery farewell and leaving me to struggle alone.

In conclusion: never going shopping again. Ever.