I’m absolutely knackered. Since the F.O.B.s away, I thought baby and me would go out shopping rather than twiddle our thumbs sitting pretty at his house all day. Right, off to Selfridges, I thought. All day shop til you drop.
Unfortunately the day got off to a poor start, as I forgot the baby wipes. Kind of a major faux-pas as they don’t sell them in Selfridges. And because I forgot, bunny decided to take 3 extra big poops, making me scrabble around with wet toilet paper and shoddy paper towels in full view in the ladies loo, while at the same time trying to hide my activities in case anyone thought I was a bad mother.
I was in Selfridges for over 5 hours, and guess what I bought?
Zero. Nothing. Zilch. Diddly squat.
It was the ultimate anorexic shop. Instead of buying and purging by taking it all back the next day, I simply starved myself of any purchases. I wandered around the store, touching the wares, looking at the price tags, and generally making myself sick. I imagined I bought all of sorts of beautiful, ridiculously expensive things, and I actually felt full with loot. In the end I didn’t need to buy anything at all.
Of course, if the F.O.B. had been with me, it would have been a different story.
I might have come home with that long haired sheepskin, bronze leather gilet for 600 quid. Except, hang on a minute, isn’t that over $1000? Seems a bit steep for a tiny strip of dead lamb.
Well, in any case, I certainly would have filled my basket up in the designer kids department. Except, hang on a minute, designer wear for babies? What the fuck is up with that? When I stop to think about it, spending £150 (that’s $270) on a Dior sleep suit is crazy, even for me. I don’t care if the F.O.B. is paying, I don’t spend that much money on my own sleep suits. Bunny might be a spoilt little prince, but we gotta draw the line somewhere. We ain’t no Jennifer Lopez, whose twins never wear the same designer outfit twice.
So instead I went into the book department, and this book caught my eye “Is It Just Me, or Is Everything Shit?” and I thought, hello, what’s all that about then? I picked it up, saw it was an encyclopedic attack on the crapness of modern culture, and flicked to the “b’s” and sure enough, there it was. “Baby designer wear”. So it isn’t just you, mate, and it isn’t just me. Baby designer wear is officially shite.
