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| Image courtesy of Dorky Boy Comics www.dorkboycomics.com |
Last week, I stood in the middle of River Island with a Galliano style Mohawk hat, a teddy bear iPod cover and a ‘Grow Your Own Sponge Bob’. The mixture of fear and dementia in my face told a cautionary tale. I felt like I was holding kryptonite and felt an additional pang of guilt for whoever was to be schlepped with Mr. Square Pants. And with that, I dropped my armful of alms on the nearest display unit and made a dash for the door.
At home lay a further ramshackle of wrong choices prompted by a combination of too little time, too many people and Slade blasting through shop speakers. Lest I wanted to be banned from the family Christmas forever more, I thought it wise to implement a plan – if only to avoid fobbing off those fur mittens as hand puppets to my six year old niece.
Hence, a list was made, time blocked off and blinkers adjusted. I stormed each shop like Anneka Rice on a treasure hunt – only minus the jumpsuit, headset and Richard the soundman. You get the picture...
“Do you have an oversized cross-body bag that will suit a fifteen year old who loves Twilight, eyeliner and giving peace signs?” I importuned the first shop assistant. (It’s important to paint a picture.) “What about a scarf that could pass for Hermes in the right lighting; or a coat that says ‘cute’ but also ‘suitable for cycling’?” Given it’s the season of giving, I was hoping the ‘ask and you shall receive’ tenet would ring true.
Other tactics included repeating silent affirmations in queues (I love waiting! Only twenty-five people ahead of me!), visualising Grafton Street empty (no mean feat I can tell you) and allowing myself a treat after each successful purchase. In total, that’s two pairs of shoes, three Butler’s hot chocolates (with marshmallows) and a Kikoh Reiki session.
Although I still have one present to nail, I’m confident my shopper’s block has lifted. The question remains, where to get a present for a classy woman who likes to garden and claims to have everything she wants? Oh dear. Note to self: never leave Mom until last!
