I would be what many would call a shopaholic, although not to the point that I feel the need to buy something wherever I go or need an intervention and fund any sort of rehab. I’m a firm believer that if it’s love and meant to be, it’ll be there in my size and the price I feel like paying when I come back for it. 65% of the time it’s there in my size and still in good condition when I come back for it. Now, if only that worked in the relationship department (OFF TOPIC).
Here’s the deal, I’ve gotten up early for shopping on Black Friday only twice in my short life and both times I was a teenager and had the stamina to keep up with my bargain seeking MidWestern aunts. When I worked retail, there was the dreaded shifts I was somehow lucky enough to end up with and had to be to the store before most people probably got to bed. That being said, I no long have any bit of desire to get my bum out of bed the day after I’ve carbo loaded enough to run an ultra-marathon just to fight off a crazed sociopathic soccer mom in her pajama jeans for the last $5 mp3 player that will ultimately shatter to pieces or get lost weeks after Christmas. I’d rather, well I’d rather do any of the following instead of shopping, fighting in traffic and getting cut by a desperate parent trying to get to the last Inappropriate Funtimes Elmo.