In a rare un-medical post and an even rarer girly girl post, I need to talk about shopping. Need. To.
Don't get met wrong, I loved the ECWC. http://gsrwa.org/ecwc/conference/ Loved it. But I won't lie, there's this big ol' mall right across the road from the hotel. With *fancy* stores and all. And on the other side of the hotel? A Barnes and Noble. A real one. With books. You know, with the book-smell and everything.
So what is this shopping that I speak of?
Let me put this in perspective. If you were to drive to the end of the world, then go another hour, you're getting close to where I live. My street address doesn't mapquest well. And that's cool, because normally online shopping works just fine.
But to be there in person? In a mall? In a big book store? HEAVEN.
My husband has an app on his phone that buzzes every time there's a charge on our credit card. So I could just imagine him getting mildly electrocuted every half hour or so while I was burning up the sales. His face going EERGH, MRRPH, TWAACK.
Let's get brutally honest. There were sales. And I had a coupon. And it was Clinique bonus days. GAME OVER. Because (to paraphrase from Bill Engvall or Jeff Foxworthy, can't remember whom), women will buy something we don't need to get something we don't want, as long as it's free. Oh sure, I see myself in mauve lipstick like…never. But damn it, the non-medical person at the counter in the bright white lab coat with impeccably airbrushed smooth skin > hate her < convinced me I would look fabulous in pink rouge. Rouge? I can't remember the last time I even thought that word. Well, right there, that's the last time.
If this writing gig ever becomes a real business, I'm wondering if a trip like this might count as a work expense? No? Oh well, it's a good try.
Anyone else with a clandestine shopping habit? I'd appreciate knowing that I'm not the only freak here.
Don't get met wrong, I loved the ECWC. http://gsrwa.org/ecwc/conference/ Loved it. But I won't lie, there's this big ol' mall right across the road from the hotel. With *fancy* stores and all. And on the other side of the hotel? A Barnes and Noble. A real one. With books. You know, with the book-smell and everything.
So what is this shopping that I speak of?
Let me put this in perspective. If you were to drive to the end of the world, then go another hour, you're getting close to where I live. My street address doesn't mapquest well. And that's cool, because normally online shopping works just fine.
But to be there in person? In a mall? In a big book store? HEAVEN.
My husband has an app on his phone that buzzes every time there's a charge on our credit card. So I could just imagine him getting mildly electrocuted every half hour or so while I was burning up the sales. His face going EERGH, MRRPH, TWAACK.
Let's get brutally honest. There were sales. And I had a coupon. And it was Clinique bonus days. GAME OVER. Because (to paraphrase from Bill Engvall or Jeff Foxworthy, can't remember whom), women will buy something we don't need to get something we don't want, as long as it's free. Oh sure, I see myself in mauve lipstick like…never. But damn it, the non-medical person at the counter in the bright white lab coat with impeccably airbrushed smooth skin > hate her < convinced me I would look fabulous in pink rouge. Rouge? I can't remember the last time I even thought that word. Well, right there, that's the last time.
If this writing gig ever becomes a real business, I'm wondering if a trip like this might count as a work expense? No? Oh well, it's a good try.
Anyone else with a clandestine shopping habit? I'd appreciate knowing that I'm not the only freak here.
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