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As I have told you, I have had trouble getting out of the house again.  Illness of the spirit, perhaps, and other things as well.  But as I've also worn you out with saying, I need things.  And so, hero that I am, I left the house yesterday--all by myself--and I went shopping.  It had to be early, of course, or I would never find a parking place at Outlet Outlet.  But first, I needed to bolster myself against the day.  I wanted a glass of wine, but I decided that breakfast was the better idea, so I headed off to the little diner where they know what I want when I take my seat at the old, long counter.  It was a good idea, for I am trying to get my gumption once again for taking pictures in public, and as I took my place at the old fashioned counter with it's years of wear and anchored, wobbly pedestal seats with no backs, I could see it all, could see the pictures I might take at a certain hour of the morning, the waitresses, the cooks, the. . . H-O-L-Y S-H-I-T. . . customers!  I looked across to a table where a mother and teenage daughter sat in profile.  The girl was wearing, and I am not making this up, a cheap TIARA.  What?  Why?  Who does that in a greasy diner, in public?  My camera was in the car.  Dare I?  Dare I go to get it?  I had all of them, the Leica loaded with Tri-X black and white film, the Canon 5D, the new Fuji, and two medium format cameras. Paralyzed.  Catatonic.  I couldn't do it.  

I guess the good news is that I can still eat at the diner, but that picture would have been worth getting banned. Lost, never to come again.  And it is with that the road to hell is paved--unmade pictures.  

After my cowardly breakfast performance, I got into the car and headed off down the interstate to join the masses.  It is summer here, so of course the roads are torn up.  For the last two miles, we barely crept down Misery Highway.  Still, I got there early enough to find parking.  Major Victory #1.  

First stop, Ralph Lauren.  It was hopping with shoppers.  I grabbed some shirts and pants and headed back to the horror show of the dressing room.  Mirror, bright, unforgiving lights, a whiskey gut. . . even new clothing didn't seem to help.  Ah, but here a shirt, there, some pants.  Different sizes needed, another trip, and finally, Victory #2.  Three shirts and a pair of pants.  Hot damn.  I decided that I didn't look that bad at all.  The girl at the checkout counter flirted with me I want to think.  

Shut up.  I know better.  

Now this story better have a point sooner or later or else I am just a teenage girl on twitter.  Sadly, I don't think it does.  I want it to, but I haven't found it yet.  No, I'm certain this is only going to devolve from here, so I'll rush through the rest of the shopping.  

Too bad.  I soooo wanted to tell you.  

Banana Republic, Brooks Brothers, J. Crew.  More shirts, more pants, a belt, some ties.  Ties!  Really, I was on a roll.  Victories #3, 4, and 5.  

This all took a while, and I was quite proud of myself for having gotten through my initial panic attack. I was walking slowly now with both hands full of shopping bags, just like the rest of the hoi-poloi.  

But I wasn't finished.  Shoes.  I needed shoes.  

My first stop was Cole Haan.  I had a pair in mind.  Luckily for me, they were there on display.  I tried on some others while the flirty clerk (no, no, it is true) went to find the size I needed.  She couldn't.  She checked the computer which told her there was one pair left in the store, so she checked again, but when she came back, she said, 

"I found out why the computer says they are here and why I can't find them.  That man that was just here bought the last pair."  

"Why'd you tell me that?" I asked.  "Really?  You torture me."  

She liked that.  Still, I found a pair I liked and bought them--in two colors.

Oh, this has become so tedious.  

Timberland.  Converse.  Nike.  Adidas.  Victories #6. . .  and so on and so forth.  

I could barely make it to the car.  

Driving home, I called my mother.

"Guess what I just did?" I asked her.

"You went shopping."

WTF?

At home, I lay my booty out before me.  I decided to send my mother a picture.  I decided to send everyone a picture.  Then I went online and bought two more pairs that I couldn't get in the stores.  I was like a maniac.  I looked for other things as well.  I wanted cool-ass jackets, tropical wool and silk pants.  Canali.  Prada.  Whatever.

The day was going quickly now, and I remembered that I was supposed to go to a kid's birthday party that was only a couple miles away.  I decided to take the Fuji.

Everybody loved it.  They loved the pictures soooooo much. . . that I came home empty handed.  I'm telling you, don't get the camera.  That is not quite fair, though.  I have made many people happy.

After the party, I decided that I would celebrate the day with another wonderful dinner.  I stopped at Fresh Market and got a big Ribeye, some tiny asparagus, a couple small yellow potatoes, and blended red wine.  I've really begun to dig the blends.

O.K.  This has officially become a teenage twitter except that it is horribly much, much longer.  There is not a point other than I went shopping and ate.  And the content of this entry is far off the tone of the picture I posted at the top.  And it is a damned good picture, too, so there is that.

My mother comes to dinner tonight.  My brunch buddy is out of town, so I will have a few extra hours to. . . I am not sure.  But whatever it is, you'll be the first to know.  Maybe I'll set up a Twitter account so you can follow me live :)