gail schimmel

The blog of writer Gail Schimmel: A bit of writing, a bit of parenting, a bit of thinking and some book reviews

Living the Dangerous Life

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There is a certain sort of shop that will be the undoing of me – and I had the misfortune to go into two of them this morning. They are shops that are cleverly positioned so that there is a wide variety of goods at reasonable prices, all of which are either beautiful or clever or useful.

The first shop I went to was Mr Price Home. While I’ve grown out of (for that, you can read “make enough money to have grown out of” if you must) Mr Price clothes, I have an absolute addiction to the Home store. Today I went in to but gifts for my kids’ teachers, it being that time of the year. I came out with:

• Gifts for the three teachers that I had intended to buy;
• A gift for the only teacher that doesn’t teach them but is nice to them;
• Beach towels – because we kinda need them and they were very soft and such nice colours . . .
• A notebook saying that it is full of good ideas in the hope that I will fill it with good ideas;
• A notebook as a birthday gift for a friend that I had no intention of buying a gift and I’m not really sure she’s a notebook sort;
• Two stocking fillers for my husband, so I can’t say what in case he reads this, but they were vital I tell you, vital;
• Wrapping paper;
• Cards.
Then I stopped off at the chemist that used to be near me, to get my nasty foot infection creams (my feet either have an eczema that has a fungus or a fungus that has eczema. It’s nasty if left untreated.) The chemist was useless but just near them was a Westpack express shop. If you’ve never been into a Westpack, don’t. It is full of strange plastic things, and particularly containers, that you suddenly Can Not Live Without. I went into a strange sort of frenzy, and only came right when I found myself about to buy a child size fairy balloon. For no apparent reason.

Now that I’m home, and unpacked, I realise I forgot all sorts of things. Like bread. And milk. So I’m off to the shops again . . . if I don’t come back soon, send help.

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