Somewhere along the line when the ability to shop, dress “to the nines” (whatever that means but it's a phrase I've heard in the movies) or decorate my house in a style other than “living in the past”, I must have been standing in the wrong line. I seem to have absolutely no taste for any of it. I haven't worn makeup since I was in my 30s because I never learned how to apply it where I didn't look I was auditioning for Barnum & Bailey. It's a miracle I haven't had my “Domestic Goddess” card revoked.
I think most of the problem stems from my impatience when it comes to shopping. How can I purchase clothes that fit me or furnishings that don't shout “We are still living in the 70s!” if I hate shopping?
If it weren't for David, we'd never have any new furniture or flooring. And if any of the shopping trips involve haggling, then I'm out. I do admire people with this particular skill. Talking about money makes me uncomfortable, and I will pay whatever they ask to get out of there.
As an example of my reluctance to enter a brick and mortar establishment, we have 14 grandkids, five of whom are at the age where they don't know the difference between plastic flatware and the cheap tinlooking kind that we usually buy, so we are down to five spoons and forks and still I haven't replaced them.
When I finally get around to it, I will buy the first box of flatware I can lay my hands on and rush out of the store. There is something about a big box store that gives me the willies. It's like I'm a gazelle (without the speed or svelte figure) and the other shoppers are wild dogs just waiting to pounce on me when I get between them and the last package of toilet paper.
Every once in a while, but not often, thank goodness, I'll get the urge to go shopping. Something comes over me. I don't know what it is. Maybe it's when the sun is shining, there's a light breeze, the birds are chirping and my pants aren't squeezing the life out of me.
That's when my other fault kicks in–impulse shopping. When this crazy affliction hits, I will buy anything, and I do mean anything if the price is right. I've been known to purchase a power tool with all the attachments just because it was marked down from $99.99 to $19.99. I may have no use for it, no clue how to use it or what it even is but, by golly, it was a BARGAIN. I have found myself buying small hammers, screwdrivers, flashlights, etc., just because I thought they were cute. David just shakes his head
Ȧ few years ago David decided we needed a new vacuum cleaner. Since he's the one who uses it the most, I took his word for it. He was going to be gone to work for a month and left the task of finding a suitable replacement to me. That was his mistake. I hopped onto a popular online retailer and ordered the one with the most attachments (which we never used) for only $100 extra.
As you can tell, I don't like getting involved in making purchase decisions. A couple of years ago David decided we needed new flooring so off we went to the local home improvement store where we moseyed over to the flooring aisle and spent an entire afternoon staring at the extensive selection of options, trying to picture what it'd look like on an entire floor. By now, my eyes had glazed over. There were just too many types of flooring to choose from.
David studied each sample stuck to the display wall as if he were in an art gallery, while I stared at my phone. As hard as I tried to remain barely interested, he insisted that I get involved. It went something like this:
David: Should we get laminate or vinyl?
Me: What's the difference?
David: One's waterproof, the other one is water-resistant
Ṁe: With 14 grandkids and two great-grandsons I'd say we better go with the waterproof one.
David: Okay, what color?
Me: Color?
David: Yeah, light or dark? What do you want?
What I want is for it to magically appear, installed, without him asking me to decide.
He pressured me into making a decision, so I panicked and blurted out, "The brown one." That was not the answer he was looking for.
"They're all brown. Could you narrow it down a bit?" he asked, giving me an exasperated look.
Next up, replacing chipped dishes and lost flatware. Maybe he'll go without me.