Sunday, 24 February 2013

Half Term


So half term is almost over.  Yesterday my daughter nagged me for some last minute quality time together.  In other words, shopping.  Fortunately I’ve been a bit flush in the last week or so, therefore tagged gamely after my daughter as she trotted around the Bluewater circuit.  First stop Forever 21.
            Now the last time we visited this shop, we came out with several shopping bags.  There was much oohing and aahing about reasonable prices and delightful fashion styles.  So what happened since our last visit?  Well the prices were still good – but the fashion was dire.  Nylon this and crimplene that.  Half the stuff looked like gear my granny used to wear.  Well, they say fashion goes in cycles, but I’m not sure I want to look like a 1950’s housewife.  I spotted a lot of monochrome stuff. Fortunately I still have monochrome shoes and a bag from the last time black and white was trending (surely not that long ago?).
            After two hours of trekking about, our purchases had amounted to zilch.  Previous fizzy anticipation of a good splurge had all but sputtered out.  Why is it that when you mustn’t spend money, everything in the shops looks fab, but when you have a few quid to spare everything on offer is dire?  Presumably it’s something to do with the Law of Sod.
            I walked past Ted Baker and perked up seeing a sweater with gems on it.  I’ve always been a sucker for sparkly stuff, be it in jewellery or jumpers, so dragged my daughter into the shop.
            ‘Good afternoon,’ simpered the shop assistant, ‘can I help you?’
            ‘Yes please.  I can’t find the price tag on this sweater.  How much is it?’
            ‘£149.  Would you like to try it on?’
            ‘No thank you,’ I trilled, and did a swift about-turn.
            Mum!’ Eleanor hissed as I stomped along the mall, ‘you sounded really narky just then.’
            ‘Well I’m sorry,’ I sulked, ‘but what a ridiculous price to pay for a jumper.  And I’ll bet all those gems would only go and fall off the minute I showed them the washing machine.  Ooh look,’ I skidded to a halt, ‘Zara.  Let’s try in there.’
            We sailed through the doors and I instantly found another sparkly sweater, this time for thirty quid.  ‘It’s still too much,’ I said grumpily.
            ‘Mum, you’re not in Asda now,’ Eleanor murmured.
            True.  I picked up the sweater and also an absolutely gorgeous cream dress covered in...yes...more sparkles.
            ‘Size large Mum?’ Eleanor peeked at the dress’s label.
            ‘Yes,’ I said firmly, ‘I want it to be comfortable.’
            Needless to say the sweater made me look like a cross-dressing lumberjack and the dress wouldn’t even zip up.
            ‘Any good?’ asked the fitting room assistant as I returned the garments.
            ‘Could you please tell me why your dress label says large but fails to do up?  I’m a size 12.  Not 22.  What do you do if somebody with a....fuller figure...comes into your shop?’
            ‘Evans is just across the mall madam.’
            To heck with that.  I shall return to George at Asda where style may be dodgy but at least it does what the label says.
            Which reminds me.  What do you get if you throw a jacket and pair of trousers into a river?  A wet suit...

1 comment:

  1. Size 12, Evans??? I'm spluttering. Surely that's a slim normal size!!

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