Shopping is at best a confusing experience for me. I don’t like it. I don’t hate it.
But it gets to be overwhelming.
Something about having my behaviour come to back to me in such material form. Something about how much things cost, or don’t, or shouldn’t, and the way savings fluctuate so that they are good one day and terrible the next.
Sometimes my purchases confound me.
The time I just had to have an industrial-sized jar of roasted red peppers (which were eaten slowly, and then too fast). The rug that didn’t go anywhere. The time the cart was empty, save for a loaf of whole wheat bread and a bottle of Drano®.
You wouldn’t think that those two things would go together. You’d be right, of course.
The incontrovertibly of those items haunts me still.
The bread I needed; the Drano® must have been on sale.
I never even used it. Just left it untouched under the bathroom sink when we moved.
The rug? I could never get it to work. Yet, there it sits in my living room, insisting that it does, and is, and in the end who am I to say otherwise?