I'm a girl. This journal is almost 10 years old, when I started it, I called it Almost 21. Before that, I had a journal called Soap on a domain that no longer exists. Some things have changed since then, some things haven't. I always wanted to be a writer. I live out that dream here.
Last night, we agreed that we would go shopping.
"I want to buy a nice shirt." He said on the phone. "A blue one... kind of a light blue, sort of shimmery and a bit silvery. Made out of heavy sort of cotton material... not one of those thin cotton ones."
The specifics. I simply wanted a pretty pink cardigan.
At 11am this morning, we were set to go. My dad suggested we go to the new mall, apparently the biggest mall in the country: opening day, everything on sale (well, almost).
Thus, began our adventure.
The mall was indeed large, the biggest I can remember seeing for quite some time (I had been a bit skeptical about this whole "biggest mall in the country" business), with cinemas, fountains, a permanent stage, supermarkets, and shops. Lots and lots of shops. They even had their own little streets linking pavilions with names like "Fountain Lane". For a brief half hour, I felt like I was in Disneyland (which I believe really is the happiest place on earth. I want to live there). I was very excited.
He found his shirt. It was in the first store we entered.
"Hey look," I said. "There's Barkers... do you want to go and look for shirts in there?"
"Okay."
There were many shirts. Blue ones and red ones and green ones, even pink ones. And on one rack tucked in the back corner, there were some shimmery silvery light blue shirts made out of heavy cotton material. Give 10 minutes try on time and $120, and he had what he wanted.
We looked in more shops. We got hungry, and we realised how much we relied on fast food. There were no fast food places, in fact, there wasn't even a foodcourt (later we found out that there is one, it just isn't finished yet. Superb.). We had chicken rolls and chicken quiche and black forest cake at the Robert Harris coffee shop in some lane (Fountain Lane? Incidentally this was the same lane that housed the shop of sparkly ceramic fairies, teddy bears, soft drangonfly mobiles with shiny green wings, dragon sculptures, candles, and many more assorted goodies... I was greedy eyed and excited. I want to live in there, too.) and walked around some more.
There were no pink cardigans.
I decided that I didn't want a pink cardigan anymore. I thought perhaps a black one would be easier to find. It wasn't.
I ended up buying a long gray winter skirt and a fuzzy, warm dark purple pullover, which make me look like a winter catalogue. Secretly, I am very pleased.
There is also a $5.00 lacy hot pink singlet, which I like. Very much. Ammends made for the lack of pink (or black) cardigan.
We came home 5 hours later, tired and with sore feet, and spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning my fishtank and reading girl mags. Later, after he went home, I had a sleep. I dreamt that I was in a clothes store, and I wanted to try something on, but I couldn't because the changing room doors didn't have locks. Well, I suppose I could have tried the clothes on... it was more of a case of me refusing to because of the lockless doors. I remember wanting to take the clothes into the shop across the way, where they had lockable changing rooms, but of course I wasn't allowed, so I never got to try them on.
When I woke up, I decided that the day had been a very good one, and that I wanted to go to an amusement park. I also decided that the reason I couldn't find a pink cardigan is because I am a very vague, indecisive clothes shopper. I don't know what I want. Clothes I see in shops that I think I don't want turn out to be the very clothes I think are fantastic, and wish I had, when my sisters buy them.
When I am rich, there will be no more wardrobe troubles. I will hire a professional clothes shopper (my sister?). That way, I will have many nice outfits, and I will not have to put up with the repurcussion of seeing clothes-filled racks every time I close my eyes.