NotJustAHatStand

Step 1

Assess the queue at the main till, and weigh this against the number of items in your basket (3).

Step 2

Decide that scanning three items at the Self Service check-out can't possibly take longer than waiting in that queue and, with a frisson of trepidation, make your way to the Self-Service lane.

Step 3

Press Start.

Step 4

Remember the last time you used Self Service (when you were charged 5p for a bag to put one Fudge bar in). Select 'I am using my own bags'.

Step 5

Place your purple spotty shopping bag in the bagging area, as directed, so that the machine can 'verify your bag'.

Step 6

Become confused when machine cannot verify your bag. Wonder if perhaps the bag is an existential oddity, that appears only to you because you want it to be there.

Step 7

Decide to ponder this question at a later date.

Step 8

Push some buttons to try and force the machine to verify your bag. It's purple and spotty, how can it not be verified?

Step 9

Take a great sigh of relief when the machine appears to give up on verifying your bag, and allows you to continue.

Step 10

Realise that it's probably charging you 5p for a bright orange Sainsburys turtle-killer. Realise that you no longer care about the turtles.*

Step 11

Scan first item.

Step 12

Place item in your bag.

Step 13

Heave another sigh of relief, and allow yourself to start believing it's going to work this time.

Step 14

Scan second item.

Step 15

Cry, as the machine bellows 'unexpected item in bagging area', attracting the attention of everyone in the small, city-centre shop.

Step 16

Wait for member of staff to come over and press a button.

Step 17

Place second item in bag.

Step 18

Scan third and final item.

Step 19

Place third item in bag. Suppress rising hope that perhaps this will soon be over.

Step 20

Press 'Finish and Pay'

Step 21

Count out the required amount (£1.52 in this case).

Step 22

Put £1 coin in machine.

Step 23

Put a 50p then a 2p coin into machine.

Step 24

Wait for machine to recognise the 52p just introduced to machine.

Step 25

After 5 minutes, accept that machine is not going to recognise your 52p.

Step 26

Cry some more.

Step 27

Consider paying an extra 52p just to end the horror of it all, and go home.

Step 28

Decide that that's what the machine wants and press the Help button

Step 29

Realise that the queue at the Real Person Check-out is now composed entirely of people that came into the shop after you. And that every one of them is watching you fuck this up as they wait to be served by a Real Person.

Step 30

Explain your plight to the very helpful and understanding Sainsburys man, who looks at you pityingly.

Step 31

Wait for Sainsburys man to get the keys for the machine.

Step 32

Watch as Sainsburys man opens the machine, unlocks the cash box, extracts 52p, locks the cash box, and closes machine.

Step 33

Inform Sainsburys man that you would pay an extra 52p just to make it stop. (He looks uncomfortable and says 'there's no need for that, miss'.)

Step 34

Re-introduce the 52p to the machine, successfully. Thank Sainsburys man for his help. ('Can I help you with anything else Miss?')

Step 35

Muster all the dignity you can, and leave the shop with your head held high, clutching your precious cargo to your chest.

Step 36

Realise that in the time you've been in there, darkness has fallen, the leaves have fallen from the trees and Christmas is just round the corner. Vow to never ever again attempt to use the Self Service Check-out facility in any shop. Ever.

*This was but a momentary blip - I do care about turtles! Don't buy turtle-killing plastic bags!

Labels: How Annoying, Shopping

I'm not a tall person. I just asked the Boy to measure me, and I am the grand old height of 5 feet and 3 inches. I'm a little upset because I've always thought I was 5'4 but you can't argue with the statistics. My hands and feet are also quite petite. I'm normally a size 3 shoe but this varies depending on the shop and the shoe - I sometimes have to wear size 4, but I also own a pair of size 2 shoes that I bought for a friend's wedding. My hands are pretty small too. Freakishly small, according to some people whose names I will not mention, Boy.

Despite all this, I don't think of myself as being particularly small - I feel like a heifer standing next to the director of my department, who is truly tiny. And I suppose I feel only slightly smaller than the average person. Today though, my modest stature was pointed out to me by two complete strangers.

I bought myself a pair of new shoes. They're little ballet pumps, in my usual size 3, and for some reason the snooty girl in the shop didn't think they merited a shoebox. She was waiting for my receipt to print and I heard her mutter: 'I can probably just fit these into a tiny wee bag'.

And so she did. She put my pretty new shoes into a bag approximately the size of a VHS videotape. I didn't mind too much as the weeny little bag will be handy for taking random bits and bobs that don't fit into my handbag to work, but still - just because the shoes are little they don't get to go in a grown up bag? As Snooty Girl was handing me the bag, I could see the Boy's mouth twitching in an effort not to laugh. This has happened many times to me in shops - some implied comment about being short or the size of my feet or my hands.

After the shoe shop, we went to a jeweller across the road to try on wedding rings. I told the camp jeweller what I was looking for and he went mincing off to bring back some for me to try on. When he came back, he asked to see my engagement ring, and I took it off and handed it to him. He squealed and said 'oh my god look at it, it's tiny!'

Then: 'I wonder if you've broken my record!'

Cue more mouth-twitching from the Boy. I asked what his previous record was but I never found out. As he sized my engagement ring he said, with the air of a zoologist who has come across a new species of beetle: 'Wow, I've never sized smaller than a G on an adult!'

So there you have it, my dimensions appear to be significantly smaller than average. I suppose this is a good thing (it's certainly preferable to being significantly larger than average), but it does make it awkward when it's only 39 days till the wedding and your perfect, meant-to-be wedding ring is going to take 6-8 weeks to be ordered in the freakishly small size you require.

Ah well, worse things happen at sea.

Labels: Shopping, Wedding

I had another scary wedding dream last night - probably because of all the gift list chat yesterday, and the fact that I am ever so slightly freaking out about how much I still have to do.

I dreamt that I was all dolled up this time (unlike the last one where I had to get married in a pair of jeans and a manky t-shirt), but no guests had turned up. There was no minister to marry us, no flowers and no band. I'm taking this as a sign that I need to pull my finger out and get busy with the wedding plans, if only to ensure I can sleep through the night without waking up in a cold sweat and shouting 'stationery!'.

Otherwise, I had quite a good day - at lunchtime I picked up the shoes I ordered at the beginning of the week. I've coveted them for a while now, so I was glad to finally get my grubby little paws on em. Then the Boy took me to the shops after work and bought me a new springy jacket. I think he was feeling guilty about watching football EVERY. SINGLE. NIGHT. this week and was trying to keep me sweet. I hate football, but if it means I get presents he can watch as much as he likes.

Unfortunately it's now pissing it down and blowing a gale so it's unlikely I'll get to wear my green springy jacket tomorrow. Ho hum.

Still, at least I wasn't on this bus today.

I'm off to have a relaxing lavendery bath.

Labels: dreams, randomness, Shopping

I've been choked with the cold since Friday. This morning I struggled out of bed (and it was a struggle, believe me) and into work, to be told that ALL our systems are broken. The main system I use is down for routine maintenance anyway, but our emails are now playing up as well. In fact, the only thing that seems to be working is the Internet (praise be), and Word. And I never use Word. But the good thing about having a stinking cold is that no-one is giving me any work to do - they don't seem to want to get too close to me...

Every time someone comes into my office they recoil in horror and say 'oooh, you look awful'. Which is nice. But I do look awful, so I'll forgive em.

My weekend seemed to go by in a flash. I ordered my bridesmaid's dresses on Saturday, and for most of the day yesterday I huddled on my couch, oozing and feeling sorry for myself. I then got pissed off with the state of my flat - it really was a midden - so I hoovered the whole place and mopped the floors. I cleaned the kitchen and the bathroom, and tidied my bedroom. Then I collapsed in a sniffling heap on the (sparkling) floor. The Boy tried to cure my cold with a chicken curry that was almost combustible (it didn't work) while we watched Top Gear, and by then it was time for bed.

On a completely unrelated note, I've had to turn on word verification as I've been getting lots of comment spam. I've been reluctant to switch the word verification thingy on as it always, ALWAYS takes me at least two attempts to submit a comment. I don't know about anyone else, but my brain seem to have trouble translating the letters in front of me, to the correct keys on the keyboard. It started off that I'd just get the odd comment, but now I'm getting bombarded with meaningless comments from people trying to sell vicodin and convert me to Scientology. So word verification is GO.

Is it time to go home yet?

Labels: Illness, Shopping, weekend

Hoo-wee, it's been a while since I updated... I've been rather busy being a domestic goddess and generally not doing anything worth blogging about.

However I have realised that I've become worringly enthusiastic about shopping in charity shops. In particular, charity shops that have a large book section.

You may find this surprising in view of my previous purchases, as the books you get from charity shops are not necessarily the prettiest or in the best condition. But it doesn't bother me. I like my books to look like they've been loved and if they're a bit dog-eared then so much the better. However I noticed a sign in the last charity shop I was in that gave me pause - it said 'Buy them, read them, return them to us!'

But... but... I don't want to return them.

I don't have to return them do I?

#panics, clutching books to chest#

Ahem.

When I moved house I unfortunately put myself in very close proximity to perhaps the largest concentration of charity shops in Edinburgh and I've taken to poking around in them at the weekends. As a book-hoarder who loves the thrill of coming home from the high street with a pile of new stuff, this is awkward. My already overstuffed bookshelves are now tottering under the weight of my numerous bargains. The Boy's suggestions that I seek help are becoming increasingly stern and scary.

But it's ok, because I don't limit myself to books. Why, this very weekend I bought myself a (new) pegbag*:


















And my mum bought me this Hobbs handbag, bargain of the month at just £8:



















I also bought Human Traces and Middlesex for £2 each, but that's beside the point. For one thing it helped Cancer Research, and for another I needed a pick-me-up after spending the morning at a wedding fair with both mums, fighting off Bridezillas for the last bit of cake.**

*I know - a PEGBAG. All I need now is a pinny and a piping bag.

**Mmm, cake.

Labels: Books, Shopping

As if I needed any more proof that there really is no going back now, I bought my wedding dress today. And the deposit cheque we sent the venue has been cashed.

So, um, I guess I'm getting married then...

#puts head between knees, breathes deeply#

Buying the dress was a bit of an anticlimax to be honest - I'd already decided on the one I wanted, so it was just a matter of trying it on one more time* and getting measured for it. I had been dreading that last part as I've put on a bit of weight in the last couple of years but I was pleasantly surprised.

*It's still beautiful.

Obviously you see women of all shapes and sizes trying on dresses in bridal shops, and I realise that I'm at the smaller end of the scale. This doesn't help however, when you go into the harshly-lit changing room, your sales assistant following you (looking like a walking mountain of silk, lace and taffeta) and she comes right into the cubicle with you. Then tells you to strip down to your undies and stands, waiting, until you do it.

I didn't realise they did this, so I was very grateful to a friend of mine for forewarning me. God only knows how I would have embarrassed myself if she hadn't. But it can be quite humiliating standing there in nothing but bra and knickers, with someone you only met 2 minutes before (and who is not a medical professional), no matter what size you are.

Anyway, the lady who measured me today owned the shop, and she designs and makes her own dresses as well as stocking lots of other designers (although mine isn't one of her creations). So I suppose you could say she knows her stuff, and after comparing my measurements to a little chart she announced, to the whole shop, that I was a '...perfect size 8! Except smaller in the bust.' I knew I was smaller in the bust than, well, most people, however I DIDN'T know that I had a 26" waist.

So what did I do after receiving this information? I went and celebrated with a piece of cake.

And now I am crowing about it on the internet. Because I figure I should make the most of it - I reckon by the time I hit 30 all the chips and cakes and bacon rolls I have eaten in my life (and there are A LOT) will catch up with me and I'll look like the Goodyear Blimp.

But for now? Perfect size 8, thank you very much. I may have a badge made.

Take that, high-street retailers*, with your tiny sizes and skeletal models!

*TopShop, I'm talking to you.

Labels: Shopping, Wedding

Tonight I have to brave the terrifying world of Tesco. We're going to stock up on bacon, sausages, coffee, croissants, and a toilet brush (I don't care what he says) in preparation for our Christmas Breakfast.

I am DREADING IT.

It doesn't matter what time you go to our local Tesco (and it's a big one, so it's open 24 hours), it's heaving. I've been there at 11pm before and still had to queue for a good 10 minutes at the check-out. It also seems to turn even the sweetest, most polite people into rude, obnoxious bastards who WILL ram you with their trolley to get the last bag of parsnips before you. God only knows what it's going to be like this close to Christmas.

I'm sure the Christmas Spirit will be in short supply...

Labels: Christmas, Shopping

Labels: Links, Shopping

The yucky coldy thing that I had seems to be abating. I now have a hacking cough, which is kind of exhausting, but I'm sure it'll go away in the next month or so. However, in a spirit of great fortitude Fiance has not let my being slightly under the weather prevent him from making me shop for a new TV.

We spent the whole day traipsing round electrical outlets on Saturday (Him: happy as a clam at the prospect of spending a large amount of money on a gadget we do not need. Me: red nosed, weepy eyed, periodically coughing up a lung, scowling), and bought precisely ... nothing.

Then yesterday, because we hadn't had enough Shopping Fun, we drove through to Glasgow to continue our search. We ALWAYS get lost in Glasgow. It doesn't matter where we're going* we get completely bamboozled by the one way system and end up going the wrong way down a one-way street or inadvertently driving back onto the motorway.

Anyway. After an unplanned stop at a multi-story car park on the other side of Glasgow, we found the place he was looking for and we bought the new TV. It was totally worth all the getting-lost, and the can-we-really-afford-it arguments.

This totally doesn't do it justice but I'm still giddy at being able to post pictures (yay!):

Can't write any more, must get back to the box. Can you hear that? It's calling to me.

*With the exception of the Buchanan Galleries because that's practically ON the motorway

Labels: Shopping, TV