I used to like to shop. When I was younger. Thinner. Now the whole thing just seems unnecessarily stressful. But I have a few things I need to pick up in preparation for a trip out of town. Not a lot of things, but still, I need to go inside a store. And try stuff on. In front of a mirror.

Truly I don’t need the overly attentive chipper female in the size zero painted on pants asking if I need a different size. I just don’t. And the older woman at the shoe store that has no other customer and wants to find me every size 7.5 black shoe she has when I haven’t even decided if I’m seriously going to look at shoes.

But most of all when I finally pick out the couple of things I need, most of which is underwear, and patiently stand in a long line of people waiting to pay for their merchandise, why do I get the only young male cashier, standing among a line of 7 older females ringing up sales? Why is it my luck to get the obviously new young male cashier who can’t get the scanner to read the tag on the underwear and is turning all shades of red. Who has to get an elderly coworker to help him. And who calls me “Miss” throughout the long excruciating (for him) transaction.

Yep. Shopping is just too hard. I think I have enough clothes and shoes and underwear now. I shouldn’t have to do this again for a few years. And if I loose a little weight there’s a whole closet full of clothes from back in the day just waiting for me.

No sales person required.