I'm not a big shopper. I don't like crowds. I don't like buying for the sake of owning more stuff. I hate trying on things and feeling bad about myself afterwards. All in all, shopping is just not a pleasant experience for me. Add to that the three children I almost always have in tow and it is downright miserable.
So when my husband gave me a big chunk of time to myself last weekend, I did what I usually do. I puttered. I folded some laundry. I broke down about fifteen cardboard boxes that had accumulated on our back porch since Christmas. I swept the kitchen, cleaned off the papers on my desk, and generally enjoyed the sound of silence. It was time to myself that I spent doing chores but I didn't resent it because nothing thrills me more than feeling like I've accomplished something. Once I got those things done, however, it occurred to me that leaving the house might actually be a good thing.
That's when I went shopping. I guess the memory of doing anything without my entourage is so far-removed from my consciousness that I thought I would give it a try. Lo and behold, I actually enjoyed myself. I admired the shoe selection at Marshall's. I picked up a no parking sign at Lowe's. I found a $1.75 sequined t-shirt at Target which I'll tuck away for Vivi's birthday. I didn't rush. I didn't have to pack snacks and time my trip so no one would melt down. I didn't have to buckle and unbuckle three car seats. And when I got home, everyone was still out.
How is that for a gift?