Letterbox Hell

Day one of stopping shopping and well I err, went shopping. Before you all crack the shits about me falling at the first hurdle though, I went with two lovely friends and although we spent several hours in town I didn't buy a THING! Well okay I did buy coffee and cake for us all but as they have both been super after I got some disappointing news last week clearly that's alright. Besides it wasn't like I bought something else to clutter up my room which is the basic gist of this and even more besides my slice of cake was free because the nice man in Johnnie LouLou's clearly wanted to get into my pants. Actually the girls took the tray and went and sat down before he'd rung it through the till so he did what he could before saying "ahh I can't remember what the last thing was" and asking for my card. It was as if the universe was gifting me a free slice of cake and well who am I to argue with the universe?

Lovely friends were a bit bemused by the stopping shopping thing, especially when I explained that clothes were on the 'can't buy' list unless they were really needed because the old stuff was dead such as underwear or gym wear and that the only way I was allowed to buy other clothes was if I contracted malaria and lost a shit load of weight and thus had to buy a whole new wardrobe to spare my blushes which let's face it is highly unlikely. They tried to argue that "ooh that dress/shirt/bag is gorgeous I NEED it in my life" was enough of a reason to splash the cash but frankly that just isn't going to cut it. I tend to buy beautiful clothes that I never wear because it feels like putting lipstick on a pig or more accurately Monsoon clothing on a water-buffalo and so what is the point in spending on them in the first place? Take for example the amazing peach pleated dress I recently bought from Primark which I will blates never wear because it would make me feel utterly ridiculous – it's hanging unloved in pride of place on my wardrobe door, the last thing it needs is more clothes to join it in the "unworn and unloved club".

I read somewhere that fashion designers would be happiest if they could send their sketches down the runway or at the very least empty clothes like that bit in "Bedknobs and Broomsticks" where are the suits of armour come to life. The reasoning is that bodies ruin the line and look of clothes which may go part of the way to explaining why high fashion models are all so bloody skinny – they're trying to be walking, talking A4 pieces of paper. I love clothes and I could pore over fashion magazines for weeks without getting bored so I love having clothes hanging in my room looking beautiful – I'd rather have them there than on my back making me look like a dumptruck wrapped in tinsel but something's gotta give and I think I have enough "key pieces" (wanky fashion term) to display in my room like some weird shopping obsessed woman to last me a lifetime.

After window shopping I came home to make dinner and do a bit of work before bed. Just settling down in front of the goggle box I noticed my pile of post from this morning:

My payslip, normally a harbinger of doom.

A Long Tall Sally catalogue.

A Joe Browns catalogue.

A Simply Be catalogue.

A Boden catalogue.

Can you see a pattern there? ARGH!!! I had to hide them because looking at them would only cause me pain. The Boden catalogue in particular makes me want to whip out Vinny Visa and go to town, well, as long as Mr Boden is including a magic body fixing wands with all purchases of course!


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